


The Plan

by beetle



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Fake Marriage, Falling In Love, Friendship/Love, Inheritance, Love Confessions, M/M, Marriage, Marriage Proposal, Post-Star Wars: The Force Awakens, Same-Sex Marriage, Yavin 4
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-10 00:55:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 63,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5562541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beetle/pseuds/beetle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the prompt (http://tfa-kink.dreamwidth.org/1082.html?thread=51770#cmt51770): They go on a mission where they have to pretend to be married! Complete with sharing a room with only one bed, having to act affectionate towards each other, and all those wonderful fake marriage tropes.</p><p>Bonus points if they already have secret feelings for each other and it makes everything even more awkward at first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Plan 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [badskippy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/badskippy/gifts), [shadowhive](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowhive/gifts).



> Notes/Warnings: Vague spoilers for Episode VII. Mentions of non-con in chapter six.
> 
> Another Note: Also, sorry for forgetting to add that there are two more chapters to this fic.
> 
> Aaaaaand Another Note: I'm jacking this fic up to five chapters. I got plans, see? And ain't no three chapters big enough to hold all them plans, see?
> 
> Yet Another Note: This beast ends when it ends. More than ten, less than twenty.

“And then, I said: ‘That’s no space-boar! That’s her _wife_!’”

 

Chewbacca laughed—or _something_ -ed—at Finn’s joke and clapped him on the back hard, as they walked away from the commissary line with their trays laden. Finn grinned and glanced around the mess, not quite admitting he was looking for a specific curly head and rakishly handsome face. Not even when he saw that hair and face, and began walking toward them.

 

“Heyya—it’s Poe!” he exclaimed, suffused with joy for no other reason than seeing his favorite person in the galaxy, and taking the Wookie’s free arm, tugging him Poe-ward. “Let’s go eat with him!”

 

Chewbacca made another mournful sound, but didn’t protest further, letting himself be dragged across the mess hall, through the crowds of congregating Resistance fighters and Republic functionaries.

 

Poe sat by himself, in a corner, which was unusual. It was as if, eschewing the center table and all his pilot-friends, he was trying to score some alone time. . . .

 

Which was ridiculous. Poe _thrived_ on company. Or so Finn told himself when he felt the need to go knocking on the pilot’s door at oh-three-hundred hours just to talk or watch holovision together. And experience bore out this theory, for Poe was _never_ not happy to see Finn, which gave Finn hope for some reason.

 

Hope about what, however, he didn’t know.

 

“Hey-hey, whaddaya say?” Finn sat down next Poe while Chewbacca made his way around the table and sat across from them both. Startled, Poe glanced up at them, then back down into hands, in which was a small data reader. His lunch was untouched and congealing.

 

 _Whatever it had been must’ve been . . . delicious_ , Finn thought doubtfully, glancing away from the pile of whatever-it-was, which was slathered in lumpy grey-brown gravy. Then he looked at his own tray, saw much the same thing, and sighed. “So, what’s the good word, buddy?”

 

“Dead,” Poe said drearily, heaving a sigh of his own and looking up at Finn again. He smiled, but it was more of a grimace, and it didn’t reach Poe’s beautiful eyes.

 

(Not that Finn thought of Poe’s gorgeous eyes as _beautiful_. It’s just that he could see, from a purely objective standpoint, just based on aesthetic values, that Poe Dameron had _the_ _most_ beautiful eyes in the known galaxy.

 

The kind of eyes bards wrote songs about and people invaded Empires for.)

 

“Dead, huh?” Finn picked up his fork and poked at his pile of . . . something. He was relieved when it didn’t poke back. “That’s not a very fun word . . . who was it, this time?”

 

Poe hadn’t lost any friends since Starkiller Base, six months ago, so Finn grimly supposed it was due to happen sooner or later. He just wished for Poe’s sake it had been _much later_.

 

Poe pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes for a few moments. Then he handed the data reader over to Finn, who took it without hesitation. Before he could ask why he was holding it, Poe went on.

 

“My grandfather, Cardeno Bey, went to join the Maker, a few weeks ago. I just found out last night via a communique from my father. And . . . there was also this,” he said quietly, reaching over to press the touchscreen of the reader, on which was the face of an older woman in official looking robes. She immediately began speaking.

 

Finn listened, frowning, for several minutes, till Poe reached over and paused the playback. Chewbacca made a lowing sort of sound and Finn took a risk and agreed. “I’m sorry for your loss, too.”

 

Poe grimaced and shrugged. “Thanks, guys. But he was . . . old. It wasn’t unexpected, his passing. He lived a long, full life and passed in his sleep.”

 

Finn exchanged a glance with Chewbacca. The Wookie shrugged, his dark eyes impossible to read if only because of all the fur surrounding them. Turning back to Poe, Finn reached out and put a hand on the pilot’s muscular shoulder. Told himself to let it linger for exactly three-point-five seconds before removing it. After all, it was like FN-2003 used to say: _Any more than that and you’re just playing with it_.

 

“I . . . I don’t know what it’s like to lose a loved one. I mean . . . not really. I mean, there was this one Stormtrooper I was kinda friends with, and he died on Jakku, but . . . anyway. I never had _family_ to lose, so I don’t know what you’re going through. But no matter what, I’m here for you. Whatever you need.”

 

Chewbacca made a rumbling groan that might have been agreement.

 

Poe’s smile was less grimace and more smile, this time. “Thank you, Finn. Chewbacca,” Poe acknowledged graciously, taking back the data reader. “So . . . yeah . . . I have some time off coming and I guess I’ll be using it to take care of Grandpa Card’s estate.”

 

“What, uh . . . what does that entail?” Finn asked carefully, uncertain if he was prying, or making things worse. But Poe’s expression, though it changed to one of apprehension, it wasn’t any more depressed than it had been.

 

“Well, it entails me basically signing it over to some lucky couple, and kissing my childhood good-bye.” Poe snorted, and off Finn’s confused look, waved the data reader. “I can’t keep his estate.”

 

“But the lady said—”

 

“Yeah, that the land and house and all his possessions would be mine, free and clear once I went back to Yavin 4 and signed some paperwork.” Poe sighed. “The part I didn’t play for you, was how—once it’s all mine, that is . . . the will’s still in probate—I have a galactic standard week to sell it off, or the proceeds from the sale of the house go to the local government.”

 

“Sell it off?” Finn was really confused, now. “Why? If you love the place, why not keep it?”

 

“Because I can’t. _I_ literally can’t keep it.” Poe handed the reader over to Finn again and touched the screen. The official started speaking again. “Grandpa Card’s will stipulates that the land and house can only be owned jointly. By a couple. Who are married. _Legally_ married.”

 

Finn’s mouth dropped open. Indeed, the official on the reader was saying just that.

 

Apparently, the summary of the will was: The house and its surrounding land, as well as all of Cardeno Bey’s possessions were willed to Poe Dameron,  _and his spouse, upon Cardeno’s death_. If, by that time, Poe had not married or entered into contract negotiations to _be_ married—official, _legally_ binding contract negotiations through the New Republic, which took months to get legal proof of, and only the very rich bothered to go through that channel—he would have the equivalent of a galactic standard week to sell all the property to a wedded couple or forfeit the proceeds of such a sale.

 

“Well, fuck.” Finn handed the data reader back to Poe, who took it glumly.

 

“My thoughts exactly.” Sighing again, Poe scrubbed his face with his square, rough hands. “I mean, I don’t want to sell the place at all, but I obviously can’t keep it. And I dunno what it’s worth exactly, but that money’ll be enough for me to start my own freight company once the war’s over, and still probably have enough money left over to buy small piece of property on Yavin 4, not too far from my dad and my sister. If I can't have the property, I've gottaget the money it's worth.”

 

“Yeah, no, I get it . . . lotsa money to have to give it up.” Finn frowned down at his own now-cold and congealing lunch.

 

“I just—I dunno why Grandpa Card did it, you know? It’s like . . . he _wanted_ me to lose the old place,” Poe said, sounding hurt and confused. Finn clapped his shoulder again . . . three-point-five seconds.

 

“Or he really wanted you to get married.”

 

“Or that,” Poe allowed grudgingly. “I mean, granddad was never too thrilled with the way I lived my life . . . you know . . . love ‘em, and leave ‘em.”

 

“Yeah. I know how that goes,” Finn lied, and across from him, Chewbacca snorted, but made no other comment.

 

“He always wanted me to settle down, like my mom did. Have children. Carry on the Bey—and I suppose the Dameron—legacy.” Poe laughed ruefully. “I mean, I tried over and over to tell him I’m not a settling down-type of person, but I didn’t know he’d go _this_ far to turn me into one!”

 

Chewbacca made a series of sounds that Poe, thankfully, understood. Hell, he even smiled. “Yeah, it’s not easy dealing with family. But . . . they’re the ones who have your back when the chips are down. So, we put up with ‘em. Though sometimes, there was no puttin’ up with the old bastard . . . I’m gonna miss him so much.”

 

The Wookie nodded, reaching out to pat Poe’s hand.

 

Finn didn’t know what to say or do—how to make his best friend feel better. Not about having to sell his childhood home.

 

Like Chewbacca, all he could think to do was reach out and cover Poe’s hand with his own. Poe smiled and turned his hand in Finn’s so that they held each other’s hand and, staring at their hands like that for long moments, an idea began to take shape in Finn’s mind.

 

A fantastic idea.

 

The best idea since the lightsaber.

 

Grinning, he glanced at Poe, who seemed confused, then at Chewbacca, who looked . . . furry. Then the Wookie’s eyes widened and he shook his head, letting out a loud moan. Poe looked at Chewbacca then back at Finn. “Chewie says: ‘ _Whatever you’re thinking is a really bad idea._ ’”

 

Chewbacca made another sound, then stood up with his tray—which was empty—and walked away. Back toward the food line. Presumably for seconds.

 

 _Ugh_. Shuddering, Finn looked at Poe for a translation. Poe shrugged. “Chewie said he doesn’t want any part of it, whatever it is . . . Finn—what’s going on?”

 

Finn, still grinning—he wouldn’t let a naysaying Wookie put a wet blanket on his Plan—squeezed Poe’s hand. “I’ve just had an idea about how you can keep your grandfather’s land and stuff. And it’s so amazingly simple and obvious, I can’t believe we didn’t think of it straight off!” Finn chuckled and glanced around the mess, leaning closer to Poe to whisper. “Why don’t you get married . . . to _me_!”

 

Poe’s eyes widened, then narrowed as if he thought he’d misheard. “I beg your pardon?”

 

Rolling his eyes, Finn nodded as the penny dropped behind Poe’s own expressive eyes. “Listen, you have to be married to keep your inheritance, right? Right. But you can’t just marry _anyone_ , for, well, _lots_ of reasons. But you and me—we’re _buds_! You can trust me not to get weird about it, or try to get some of your inheritance, or . . . I dunno, whatever bullshit happens between people who marry for convenience. And just think: if we enter into a legally binding marriage contract, not only do you get to keep your inheritance, but we get bigger quarters on the Base and more pay!”

 

Poe frowned. “Huh.”

 

“And even if we have to stay married for, like, a whole bunch of years, it’ll be cool because—”

 

“— _we’re buds_!” they finished in chorus, Finn grinning and Poe’s expression starting to lighten and lift.

 

“So,” Finn finally said, when Poe had had exactly forty-seven seconds to give the proposition some serious thought. “Whaddaya say to _that_ , pal?”

 

And Poe, grinning now, too, jumped up, pulling Finn to his feet, as well. Startled, Finn went without hesitation. Just in time for Poe to drop to one knee and take his hand.

 

“Finn!” Poe said in a dramatic, ringing voice. Aaaaaaaand just like that every eye in the mess hall was one them. Finn blushed and glanced around at the staring faces, then back at _Poe’s_ shining face. And his lambent eyes.

 

“What are you doing?” Finn gritted out under his breath.

 

“Finn, will you make me the happiest man in the galaxy,” Poe continued in that ringing voice, “and do me the great honor of becoming my husband?”

 

There was a collective gasp around the commissary. Except from one Wookie, who grabbed his newly-laden tray and exited the mess at speed.

 

Finn glanced around them again, then looked back at Poe, dazed. He’d had no idea _Poe_ would propose to _him_. Let alone in front of half of D’Qar Base. Indeed, the pilot was sliding off his class ring—which was onyxium, set with a sapphire—and gazing up at Finn like a man who’d die happy if he got a yes.

 

“Say yes, babe, and I promise, I’ll spend the rest of our days together making you as happy as you’ve made me,” Poe said, still grinning, and winking, too.

 

“I—I— _yes_! Of _course_!” Finn exclaimed, blushing and wiping at his eyes, which were tearing up for some reason. “Of course I’ll enter into a marriage contract with you, in a legally binding ceremony in the eyes of the New Republic!” he added, and Poe licked his lips and slipped the class ring onto Finn’s left ring finger. . . .

 

It was a perfect fit.

 

 _Huh_ , Finn thought as Poe kissed his hand, then stood up, picking him up suddenly and spinning him in circles.

 

“He said _yes_!” Poe crowed, as Finn yelped and hung on tight as they spun. He was suddenly extra glad he hadn’t eaten that whatever-it-was that’d been for lunch. For the way Poe was spinning him, it would've come screaming right back out the way it'd gone in.

 

The mess hall spun in a blur of faces, cheering, and clapping, and then Poe was putting him down and pulling him close, his hands settling on Finn’s waist. They squeezed meaningfully.

 

“You’re the best friend I ever had, Finn,” Poe whispered, leaning in to kiss Finn, soft and sweet and briefly. When it was over, Finn’s head was spinning for another reason entirely. "You really _have_ made me the happiest man in the universe."

 

Finn wrapped his arms around Poe’s neck and let himself be embraced as the mess hall still clapped and cheered. He closed his eyes and found himself concentrating on the small things. Poe’s scent—like wind and sky and stars—and the way Poe’s heart beat fast against his chest, to seemingly the same rhythm as his own. . . .

 

The way he, himself, was starting to get hard from all of the above, as well as the amazing feel of Poe’s hard body in his arms and pressed against him.

 

 _I may have gotten in over my head,_ he thought anxiously, easing his pelvis away from Poe’s and hoping no one—Poe especially—noticed. Then he was looking at Poe's ring on his hand, solid as a promise, and sighing.

 

He wondered if the Wookie had been right, after all.

 

TBC


	2. The Plan 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt (http://tfa-kink.dreamwidth.org/1082.html?thread=51770#cmt51770): They go on a mission where they have to pretend to be married! Complete with sharing a room with only one bed, having to act affectionate towards each other, and all those wonderful fake marriage tropes.
> 
> Bonus points if they already have secret feelings for each other and it makes everything even more awkward at first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes/Warnings: Vague spoilers for Episode VII.

General Leia Organa was sitting behind her desk and, for once, words completely failed her at the sight of two of her best operatives in their dress-uniforms.

 

Across from her sat Poe Dameron—the best pilot and one of the best intelligence gatherers in the galaxy—BB-8 to his left, quiescent for the moment, which was, in itself, strange. For the only droid that talked more than most BB units tended to was the C-3 models. But BB-8 seemed content to gaze around her jam-packed office with wide visual sensors.

 

The same could be said for Finn, his dark eyes wide, his manner, for once, meek and respectful to the point of almost seeming intimidated.

 

Almost.

 

“Wow,” Finn said softly. “I didn’t know there were this many books in the _galaxy_. Have you read them _all_?”

 

He asked this as if torn between awe and fright. Leia chuckled, waving a dismissive hand when Poe elbowed Finn in the side, leaning over to whisper something in his ear. “It’s a perfectly appropriate question, boys. And the answer is: yes. Some of them more than once.”

 

Both young men’s eyes widened, and they once again gazed at the many over-laden bookshelves against the walls of Leia’s office.

 

“You must never sleep,” Finn said in an absent, awe-stricken voice. Leia laughed and leaned back in her comfortable leather office chair—but not too far. She didn’t want to hit the shelves directly behind her. They were barely held up by prayer.

 

“It’s true that I don’t sleep as much as I’d like. But there’s never any rest for the wicked.” She smiled at BB-8, who asked why she didn’t have all books transferred to a data chip. It wouldn’t even take a big one. It would be doable with the smallest of the common-sized chips. . . .

 

“Well, let’s just say, I was raised to be an old-fashioned girl. My father, Bail Organa, was obsessed with books, and passed that love on to me. No amount of data chips and readers could take the place of flipping through an old, leather bound book, and catching that faint scent of age and vanilla. . . .” Leia sighed at the dumbfounded look on all their face. Even BB-8’s. “I like old-fashioned books. They don’t make any bee-bee-bee-bee-beeps, and require a little effort on my part.”

 

Chuckling, Leia waved her hand at the books behind her. “These represent some of my favorite titles from my father’s vast library. Some of them have been out of print for a thousand years. Just this one bookshelf is worth ten of a tricked out gunboat like the _Finalizer_.”

 

Finn’s eyes widened again and Leia nodded. “Knowledge ain’t cheap, kids. And _wisdom_ is _priceless_ . . . but a quick tour of my not-so-secret passion isn’t what brought you here, is it? And dressed so formally.”

 

As if someone flicked a switch, both Finn and Poe smoothed their outfits: Poe was in his midnight-blue ceremonial uniform, with all its epaulets and ribbons, pips and bars. He even wore the damned hat, which matched the uniform and actually looked good on Poe. Then again, there was little that didn’t. But despite that, Poe Dameron looked about as comfortable as a Sliga during its awkward, many-legged, mating-dance. His right leg and right arm were jittering and bopping, his highly-shined boot and restless fingers tapping out rhythms so pronounced, they all could’ve danced to them. His left leg, however, was still and at ease, as was his left arm.

 

The same left arm and leg around which Finn had wound his right arm, and upon which he was resting his right hand, respectively.

 

Finn, too, wore his ceremonial uniform, which wasn’t much different from Poe’s, except for the number of epaulets, ribbons, pips and bars. Finn didn’t have as many of those as Poe, who’d been with the Resistance for fourteen years. Finn had only been active for five months, since awakening from his coma. In that time, he had been sent on no few missions that required stealth and sharpshooting (as opposed to espionage. Finn’s face was far too well-known for him to ever climb the ranks of the Resistance’s spy network.)

 

For it seemed that the one thing Finn could do better than everyone else on the base, was _shoot_. Give him a projectile weapon— _any_ projectile weapon, and he’d know it inside and out within five minutes of examining it. Said talent had clearly been wasted in the First Order. He’d been pushed into the rank and file, instead of trained to be a sniper or an assassin, as the Resistance would have done upon seeing him shoot the eyes out of a target one hundred fifty yards away.

 

Leia herself had seen Finn make that “miracle-shot” several times with his blaster rifle, sans scope. She’d immediately had him reassigned from his make-work duties around D’Qar Base, and sent to the Shooter’s College. Shortly after that, he was going on partnered missions with more experienced members of the Resistance. Despite his newness he already had a higher kill-ratio than most of his peers in the Shooter’s College.

 

Now, instead of the little-boy-lost face he’d used to mope around the base with when Poe was on a mission, Finn looked rather like a man in who’d tripped over a root and fallen into a pile of clover. He’d found not only his niche in the Resistance, but the respect and camaraderie of his peers and superiors.

 

When not on a mission, he spent his time immersed in the art of creating and maintaining weapons, even assisting the various instructors at the Shooter’s College in their efforts to train Resistance fighters to shoot competently. He spent his free time either tinkering with weapons to make them aim and fire better or he spent it creating hybrid weapons that were mission-specific and shooter-specific.

 

There were already plenty of snipers, assassins, and even instructors at the Shooter’s College who wouldn’t let anyone but Finn touch their weapons. Most of the pilots, Poe included, had a tendency to want Finn to look over their weapons systems and guns before and after they flew missions, and Finn never turned them down, something that won him quite a few friends among the base’s fly-boys and girls.

 

 _Just when_ , Leia wondered wryly, _does_ he _find time to sleep?_ Then she chuckled to herself. _He’s twenty-two, he doesn’t need sleep. All he needs is plenty of food, fresh air, and caffeine and he’s ready to take on the day_.

 

Much the same could be said for Poe who, at thirty-three, had the energy and spirit of someone half his age. And, on occasion, the emotional maturity level. In fact, with his rakishly handsome good looks, devil-may-care grin, and bravery which bordered on foolhardiness, he reminded her, with a pang every time, of Han. . . .

 

In fact, both boys reminded her of Han and Luke, respectively, with that bravery/foolhardiness, and that absolute loyalty to a cause, once taken on . . . or a person, once trusted. And it was clear that, in each other, both boys had found someone they could trust with their lives.

 

And though, in their own ways, both Finn and Poe were popular with large segments of the base, this popularity didn’t put a single dent in their friendship. They were as loyal to each other as if neither had another friend in the world. Friendships like that were rare, indeed. Hard to come by between two battled-hardened people such as a long-time Resistance pilot and an ex-Stormtrooper. . . .

 

Leia glanced down at Finn’s hand, where it rested on Poe’s leg just above the knee, and Poe’s hand, where it rested on Finn’s.

 

“Well,” Poe said heavily, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. He met Leia’s eyes and tried on a nervous smile. “We kinda need a favor. From _you_ ,” he added when Finn leaned against him and turned his hand so his fingers linked with Poe’s.

 

 _Of course, the lack of denting in their friendship probably has something to do with_ that. _How did I not notice this before now?_ _They’re so obvious, it’s_ adorable, she thought, amused and exasperated with herself. A general’s life was busy, true, but eventually, every bit of base gossip and conjecture reached Leia’s ears. It was a part of what made her such an effective general—gave her the common touch Bail Organa had made sure she cultivated, despite his wife’s misgivings.

 

Clearing her throat, she put on her most general-like face, stern as her mother's habitual expression, but parental as her father's. “Go on, then, gentlemen. What is it you need?”

 

Poe took another breath as if to answer, but Finn beat him to it. “We need you to m-marry us,” he said, biting his lip nervously, but still meeting Leia’s eyes for longer than most people could. “We need to sign a marriage contract that’s legally binding in the New Republic . . . and we need you to marry us.” Finn’s eyes narrowed as if he was trying to remember something. Then his face brightened. “Plus, we need some time off for our h-honeymoon.”

 

Surprised, Leia looked from a probably blushing Finn, to a definitely blushing Poe, then back to Finn. “Are you . . . is this a joke? Because let me assure you, gentlemen, that I haven’t the time or inclination to be the butt of your jokes.”

 

“No, General Organa, it’s not a joke,” Poe said softly, squeezing Finn’s hand, then pulling it up so Leia could see . . . what could only be Poe’s class ring on _Finn’s_ ring finger. “I proposed to him in the commissary a few hours ago. He said yes, obviously, and we were . . . sorta hoping you could put the seal on this deal for us. Like a rush job.”

 

Leia’s mouth dropped open and she blinked almost blankly. “Let me get this straight: You,” she pointed at Poe, “proposed to Finn in the mess hall?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And you,” she pointed at Finn, who squirmed just a little, “said yes?”

 

“Yes,” both Poe and Finn chimed in. Leia’s eyes ticked between their faces: Finn’s nervous and worried, Poe’s . . . rather unreadable, even as he stared at his hand in Finn’s.

 

“Right. And now, you want me to marry you two—post haste, I imagine?”

 

“Yes, General.” Now Finn met her eyes and smiled limply. “Like, right now, if—you know . . . you’re not too busy. Poe and I researched wedding ceremonies on the ‘Net. We found a few that are really short and simple.”

 

Leia’s mouth dropped open again. “You want me to marry you two _now_?”

 

“Yes, ma’am, General.” Leia could hear the salute in Poe’s voice, and see the way he straightened up in his chair, leaning forward and placing his free hand on the front edge of Leia’s desk. “Finn and I love each other, and we don’t want to wait for the war to be over to get married. I want to take him to Yavin 4 to meet my father and sister, and nieces and nephews. I want him to be a part of my family in case . . . in case something happens to me, and—”

 

“Don’t say that, Poe,” Finn plead softly. Poe pulled Finn’s hand up to his heart, holding it there for long moments while he gazed into Finn’s eyes.

 

“Don’t worry. Of _course_ , nothing’s gonna happen to me. But if it _does_ . . . I want you to have a family you can turn to, even if they’re really far away.” Poe’s smile was warm and fond. “Should any mission I’m on go badly, and I end up . . . well, you know. I want you to have my last name, and everything that goes with it.”

 

Finn blinked and a tear ran down his face. He impatiently swiped it away. “You . . . you really _mean_ that? You’re not just saying it because—” Finn nodded fractionally toward Leia, something her keen eyes didn’t miss. But Poe only seemed to have eyes for his affianced.

 

“I’ve never meant anything more in my entire life, babe.” Poe’s staid, unreadable mask cracked a little . . . just enough to let a man who was clearly concerned with his fiance’s faith in him. He searched Finn’s face, his own slowly losing that mask-like stoicism for something decidedly more vulnerable. “I’ve been wanting to give you a last name for the longest . . . I think you could do worse than ‘Dameron.’”

 

“If you say so, hubby.” Finally, Finn cracked a self-deprecating smile, as melancholy as it was wry, and he looked away from Poe . . . over at Leia, who raised an eyebrow in question.

 

“Anything you could do to help us get married as quickly as possible, and off on our h-honeymoon would be very much appreciated, General Organa,” Finn said meekly, his affect gone from self-deprecating back to upbeat then self-deprecating, once more, in a matter of seconds. For a moment, Leia was almost dizzied. Between Poe’s unreadable mask and Finn’s ability to turn his personality on and off at a moment’s notice, she felt more than a little disoriented.

 

 _Since when,_ she thought with the desperation of someone being put on the spot _, do these two have_ facets?

 

Leia gave up on trying to see what was behind Poe’s resumed mask, and Finn’s personality switch, for the moment, and leaned forward over her desk. “Well, I won’t lie: it’ll be a job of work getting time off for you now, and to go so far as Yavin 4—I assume that’s where you’re planning to stay for the duration of your honeymoon?” she asked Poe, who licked his lips, then bit the bottom one, but nodded.

 

“I want him to meet his new family, and my family to meet their new son and brother and uncle. General . . . he and I need to be married as soon as possible, and on our way to Yavin 4,” Poe said, quietly but fervently, squeezing Finn’s hand—tight enough that _Leia_ winced—but not so much as glancing at the other man, who was now looking down at the floor, his manner subdued once more.

 

And suddenly, Leia thought she knew what was bothering this unusually subdued Finn.

 

Smiling, she stood up and skirted her messy desk, then put her hand on Finn’s shoulder, leaving it there until he finally looked up at her with slightly reddened eyes.

 

Leia leaned against the desk. “Not exactly the kind of wedding you imagined for yourself, is it? A rushed signing of a contract and a few words spoken, then ta-da! Married and winging your way off to Yavin 4.”

 

Finn smiled just a bit, then looked down again. Poe’s eyes were darting back and forth between them both. He seemed mildly confused. _Huh. Just like a man_ , Leia thought in exasperation as Finn searched for the words to say how he felt. “Not really. I mean, I never used to imagine a wedding for myself back when I was a Stormtrooper, because Stormtroopers never married.” Shrugging, Finn took a deep breath and glanced up as he let it out, trying on a smile that looked about as real as a six credit note. “I don’t even know what weddings are supposed to be like, so. . . .” he shrugged miserably.

 

Leia glared over at Poe, who shrank in his seat, looking surprised and confused. under Leia's continued glaring, he shrugged defensively and looked away. Leia sighed her disapproval.

 

“Alright, Finn . . . Poe. I’ll marry you and witness the signing of your marriage contract. But on one condition, and this's a deal-breaker,” Leia added as Poe started to grin and Finn . . . continued to stare down at his boots miserably. “You wait till tomorrow evening to hold the ceremony in the auditorium.”

 

“ _Wait_?” Poe demanded at the same time Finn looked up and said: “The auditorium?”

 

Leia nodded, smiling at Finn, who was the one to look confused, now. “Yes, the auditorium. After all, it’s the only place the entire base can squeeze into.”

 

“ _The entire base_?” both men squeaked. Leia nodded.

 

“If I’m going to officiate at your wedding, we’re going to do it right. That includes inviting everyone who's available and who wishes you well—and that’s probably everyone on base—having a wedding cake, your self-written vows, the exchange of rings, etc. I’ll have C-3PO dig up a standard marriage contract and you can spend tomorrow morning looking it over with him. He’ll be able to help you with the finer points of marriage and contract law, _and_ with the writing of your vows to each other.” Leia tapped her chin with her index finger. “Getting you that time off may not be so tough, either, if I call in a few favors with HR. If we’re lucky, you’ll be winging your way to Yavin 4 tomorrow evening.”

 

“Yes!” Poe crowed, jumping up and hugging Leia, who stiffened, but only for a moment. The last time she’d been hugged, it’d been a good-bye hug. A good-bye _forever_ hug, though neither of them knew that at the time. . . .

 

Leia blinked away tears and tried to smile as she patted Poe’s back.

 

“Thank you, General! Thank you!” Poe kept saying, dancing her in a circle before turning to Finn, pulling him out of the chair—despite Finn’s demurring—and whirling him around before carefully dipping him low . . . _without_ bashing his head on the edge of Leia’s desk, by some miracle.

 

Poe held the dip as Finn stared up into his eyes, his own brimming with so many emotions, it felt like eavesdropping to Leia, to try and interpret them.

 

Finally, Poe leaned down and pressed a soft, almost chaste kiss to Finn’s lips.

 

Leia did _not_ miss the way Finn shivered and clung to Poe.

 

“And thank _you_ , Finn. For . . . everything,” Poe whispered against Finn’s lips, straightening them both out of their dip. He looked entirely too pleased with himself, whereas Finn looked helpless and confused again.

 

Curious.

 

But Leia put the thought away for later consideration. “Alright, boys, I’ll send the invitations by ‘Net-mail, as well as the marriage contract. You’re not to sign it until tomorrow, during the ceremony. Got that?”

 

“Yes, General Organa,” Poe and Finn said at exactly the same time, the former taking the latter’s hand.

 

“And where I come from, it’s an old tradition that the couple sleep in separate quarters and don’t see each other until the wedding ceremony starts,” Leia added, garnering neither the groans she half-expected or the outright protests she _fully_ expected. No, the boys’ responses were interesting indeed: Finn’s expression seemed torn between relief and disappointment. Poe merely shrugged and smiled.

 

“Whatever the general commands,” he said, swinging Finn’s hand up to his mouth for another kiss. Then, with a quick salute to Leia, he tugged Finn out of her office and BB-8 zipped along after them. Leia followed after, too, leaning against the door post so it wouldn’t automatically close. “And remember, tonight is meant to be a night of reflection and soul-searching. You two are _not_ to see each other or touch each other until tomorrow evening, when you’re saying ‘I do.’ It’s bad luck.”

 

“No seeing, no touching—we promise!” Poe called back as he and Finn turned a corner, Finn glancing back at Leia and smiling. Then they were both gone. BB-8, however, hesitated, then went off in the opposite direction, toward the main hangar. No doubt to spread the word to as many other droids as he could. 

 

Smiling, Leia stood in the doorway for long moments after they were gone. Then she turned back into her office with a sigh. Thankfully, for the past few months, the First Order had spent most of their time trying to rebuild their fleet after the destruction of their precious Starkiller Base. There hadn’t been nearly as many missions for the Resistance as there once were—though Leia knew, with the prescience of any seasoned general, that this retreat and regrouping wouldn’t last for much longer—so most of her day was spent requisitioning this many supplies and drawing support from that faction. It was never-ending busy-work. So it would hardly make a difference if she were to push some of it back to be taken care of later, while she did something she’d of course, as a princess, been trained to do, but had never put to any use.

 

Before now, that is.

 

Sitting behind her desk, she sent three messages to C-3PO, BB-8, and Chewbacca, respectively.

 

Then she mass 'Net-mailed everyone currently on base, with the who, what, when, and where of the wedding.

 

 _Then_ , at last, it was time to begin the planning phase.

 

 _I may be a bit rusty, and short on time, but they won’t know what him ‘em_ , she thought with a smug smirk.

 

#

 

“Can you believe that? No seeing each other till tomorrow night. All because of some dumb superstition.” Poe snorted, swinging Finn’s hand. “Bad luck—yeah, _right_!”

 

“Well, it’s harmless enough, I guess,” Finn murmured, looking down at his feet, a small smile on his face. “It’s just one night and part of the next day. And it’s not like we _don’t_ spend most of our nights apart anyway, you know.”

 

“Yeah . . . but it’s different when we’re on missions or too fucking tired to drag our asses to the other’s quarters. We’re being _ordered_ to stay apart by the general! Doesn’t that bother you?”

 

Finn glanced up at Poe, then went back to studying his boots. “I dunno . . . should it?”

 

“Well . . . _yeah_!” Poe exclaimed, and Finn’s smile widened.

 

“In that case, I’m incensed. Filled with the white-hot rage of a thousand-thousand suns,” Finn deadpanned. Poe rolled his eyes and stopped them both from turning the final corner before Finn’s quarters.

 

“Listen,” Poe said softly. “What if we were the real-deal, huh? What if we were crazy-in-love with each other, and then someone told us we had to spend a whole night and day apart, because it’s a tradition on some wackadoo planet? Hmm? How would you feel then?”

 

Finn aimed that little smile at his shoes. “I suppose I’d feel like I was dying a little, each moment I was away from you. I’d feel a sense of dread and despair at being apart from you, even just for a day. I might even say: ‘To Hell with Organa’s superstitious claptrap, I refuse to be apart from you just because of some superstition,’” he murmured, still smiling at his shoes. Then he looked up at Poe rather shyly. “How would _you_ feel?”

 

Poe grinned. “Honestly? You took the words right out of my mouth, Finn.”

 

That shy gaze traveled down to Poe’s left lapel. Finn reached out to straighten and smooth the fabric, but when he was done, his hand lay flat on Poe’s chest. Right over his heart, where it rested for most of a minute, before Poe blushed for no reason he could figure out. He covered Finn’s hand with his own, trapping it against the strong, steady beat underneath.

 

Finn met Poe’s eyes, his brow furrowing. “Poe?” he asked and, swallowing, and leaning closer at the exact moment Poe did. When the pilot’s hands settled on Finn’s waist, however, _Finn’s_ _hands_ fluttered about Poe’s arms like disoriented butterflies. “What if . . . what if we—”

 

“Shhh.” Poe leaned in even closer—pulled _Finn_ closer, until they were flush against each other—smiling as Finn’s dark eyes widened in surprise and confusion.  “It’s okay, Finn . . . let me try something. . . .”

 

“Something like _wha_ — _mmph_. . . !” Finn gasped in _further_ surprise as Poe lips first brushed, then claimed his own. Sweetly, at first, then less so as Finn moaned into the kiss, wrapping his arms around Poe’s neck.

 

Poe’s hands, themselves quite used to this sort of thing, slid instinctively around to Finn’s ass, squeezing and pulling Finn tight against him. This time, when Finn gasped, Poe took the initiative to bring his tongue into play.

 

It was obvious that Finn wasn’t used to kissing someone. He was timid and tentative, as if he was afraid he might make Poe angry when, in truth this kiss was easily the best he’d ever had. For what Finn lacked in experience, he more than made up for in eagerness, natural talent, and sheer joy.

 

(Which isn’t to say he wasn’t a quick study. It seemed like mere seconds into the kiss, Finn was not only copying Poe’s style, but improvising and changing his game up.)

 

Poe backed them up until they were against the corridor wall and slid his hands down to the backs of Finn’s thighs, before breaking the kiss to bend just enough so that he could pull Finn’s thighs up and around his hips.

 

Finn, once he realized what Poe was doing, braced himself against the wall, his eyes wide as Poe moved in even closer, stealing a brief kiss . . . then several more as Finn’s arms clenched around his neck, tight and strong. Poe leaned his forehead against Finn’s, and they stood there like that for long moments, fighting for air and cogent thought.

 

“I’ve . . . never done this before,” Finn panted, and Poe smiled mischievously.

 

“Done _what_?”

 

Finn glanced away, his brow furrowed in something far too much like shame for Poe’s taste. “Any of it. The kissing. The touching . . . I’ve never . . . The First Order didn’t allow . . . fraternization. If you got caught even staring at another Stormtrooper for a second too long, that was enough to get you sent to re-education. And no matter how strong or how much of a fight they put up, the ones sent to re-education came back . . . different. Broken. Like they’d been . . . hollowed out, or something.” Swiping quickly at his eyes, Finn tried to smile when he looked back at Poe, who was, frankly, horrified.

 

He’d known the First Order was _evil_ . . . but he’d had no idea that even the most basic levels of companionship and affection were brainwashed out of Stormtroopers.

 

Now, looking into Finn’s skittish, shame-filled eyes, Poe felt something in his chest turn over, then beat faster. He let go of Finn’s legs—Finn’s long, strong thighs were still clamped tight around Poe’s waist—and cupped Finn’s face in his hands, leaning in to kiss the tip of his nose, then his lips.

 

“There’s nothing wrong about loving someone or wanting to be with them. The First Order is scared of love, of the bonds that happen between people who love each other. Because those bonds are something they can never hope to control.” Poe searched Finn’s eyes. “I reckon you’re the only good thing that ever came out of the First Order. Not because of how well you shoot, or how brave you were in _leaving_ the First Order. But because you . . . you have a capacity for love that’s greater than you know. And. . . .” Poe sighed and backed up. Finn was quick on the uptake once again and, bracing his hands on Poe’s shoulders, lowered his legs to the floor, questions in his eyes.

 

“One day, Finn, you’re gonna meet a great guy who’s smart and funny and kind and who respects the Hell out of you, like you deserve. You’re gonna meet this guy and sparks are gonna _fly_. You’re gonna wonder how you ever went so long without this guy in your life. You’re gonna fall head-over-heels for him, and he’ll sweep you off your feet. Make you feel like you’re the only man in the universe.” Poe smiled, but it didn’t reach his hazel eyes. “One day, you’re gonna meet this guy and he’ll be _worthy_ of you. Worthy of being your _first_ _lover._ And I—am gonna be so happy for you when that day comes. Because no one will deserve that kind of happiness like you will. And do. You just gotta . . . keep on keepin’ on till you _meet_ that special guy, right?”

 

Finn blinked, but the shininess in his eyes only grew more pronounced. Poe looked away. Down at his own highly-polished boots. “Just, uh . . . don’t forget about your ol’ pal, Poe, right?”

 

Finn nodded and Poe’s fake smile widened into a genuine grimace. “Good! That’s . . . good. So . . . I’m gonna go change out of this monkey-suit and hit the hay. I’ll, uh, see you tomorrow evening?”

 

“No doubt. Yeah.” Finn smiled, too, though his smile seemed rather bitter and self-mocking and—

 

Poe turned away and strode off back down the corridor, toward the officer’s block. His lips were tingling, his legs were wobbly, and he was hard enough to shatter onyxium.

 

Tugging his tunic down as low as he could—which wasn’t very—he kicked himself for being ten kinds of fool. What had he been thinking, putting the moves on _Finn_? Finn was like his little brother! Okay, maybe more like a little cousin. Twice removed. And _that_ kind of relationship between cousins was frowned at everywhere, except for trash-heap planets like Jakku and Tatooine.

 

It was just . . . _wrong_.

 

And so what if Finn was tall, dark, and gorgeous, just the way Poe liked his men? So-freaking-what that aside from his drop-dead good looks, Finn was funny, smart, sweet, selfless, and possibly the most wonderful guy in the entire galaxy? So what if Finn was a complete innocent—pure as the driven snow and ripe for corrupting? So-fucking-what?

 

Poe paused outside the door to his quarters, trying to remember what, exactly, his point had been for cataloguing all the ways that Finn was perfect. For the life of him, he couldn’t recall.

 

Poe leaned against the door, closing his eyes. All he could see was the stricken look on Finn’s face when he’d pulled away. The dashed hope in Finn’s expressive eyes.

 

“What are you doing?” he asked himself, opening his eyes and staring up at the low ceiling as if for answers . . .  or at least guidance. Neither was forthcoming. “Seriously, Dameron, what are you _doing_? Just because you’re buds and Finn’s nice enough to marry you so you can keep your inheritance doesn’t mean you can take advantage of the guy. Even if he’s into it. He doesn’t know better—is still practically a kid. Not to mention that if, when the time comes to dissolve this marriage, he thinks there’re _feelings_ involved . . . that’ll make it even harder on you both. But especially on _him_. Is that what you want?”

 

Poe sighed, shaking his head. It wasn’t what he wanted at all. He didn’t know _what_ he wanted, not exactly, but the last thing on that simple list was to hurt Finn in _any_ way.

 

Maybe . . . maybe it’d be best to just call off the wedding. . . .

 

_No. I can’t do that. There’s too much at stake. There has to be some sort of middle ground . . . right?_

_Maker save me, why’d you have to make this so_ difficult _, Grandpa Card? Did you have to be a contrary old bastard even in death?_

Wiping his eyes, Poe straightened up. The wedding would go on. He’d just have to be careful not to let either of them get caught up in feelings. That was some dangerous shit, feelings. All his life, Poe had managed not to catch a dose. He didn’t mean to start catching it now.

 

So he’d have to keep his physical distance, of course. He had to stop letting his mouth run away with his brain, the way it had in General Organa's office. And on the way to Finn’s quarters. And there was certainly to be no more of what had _just_ happened. No more kisses and touches. Because that way lay confusion, frustration, and the ruination of a friendship Poe valued more than he valued his own life.

 

 _I shouldn’t have said all that stuff in Organa’s office, but . . . I meant it. I_ would _be honored if Finn took my name and became a part of the Bey/Dameron family. Dad and Kendral are gonna love him. And he deserves that—for so many reasons, not the least of which is saving the galaxy—a family that loves him. What he does_ not _deserve is me letting my damned libido screw this up for him._

Turning around, Poe pressed his hand to the ID plate. A moment later he was in the privacy of his own quarters. He undressed, tossing his uniform around the room one piece at a time, until he was naked but for his boxers. A moment of thought and then he shucked them, too.

 

Throwing himself on his bed, he decided he was going to take the Corellian bull by the horns and get this sudden . . . attraction to his best bud out of his system. The writing of vows and approval of the marriage contract would wait till morning.

 

But two hours later, all stroked out, yet strangely unsatisfied, Poe stared up at his ceiling frustrated and angry. With Finn, with Organa, with himself, most of all. Who else had been squandering his life to the point that his own grandfather had to resort to threats to keep Poe from just throwing it all away.

 

Well, Poe’d found a way around that, he surely had. And in doing so, he’d done what his grandfather had always said was his greatest failing.

 

He’d outsmarted himself.

 

Sighing again, Poe tried to turn off his brain. Instead, all he could think about was Finn’s smile, and the way Finn kissed. The solid, perfect feel of him in Poe’s arms. The way Finn’s legs had felt wrapped around his waist. . . .

 

Aaaaaaaaand just like that, he was hard again.

 

Grumbling, Poe gave himself a hand. And as he did, he wondered if the Wookie _had_ been right, after all.

 

TBC

 


	3. The Plan 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt (http://tfa-kink.dreamwidth.org/1082.html?thread=51770#cmt51770): They go on a mission where they have to pretend to be married! Complete with sharing a room with only one bed, having to act affectionate towards each other, and all those wonderful fake marriage tropes.
> 
> Bonus points if they already have secret feelings for each other and it makes everything even more awkward at first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes/Warnings: Vague spoilers for Episode VII.

After a near-restless night of thin, dream-disturbed sleep, Finn was only too happy to open his eyes for the day when the door chime to his quarters rang. According to the digital readout on his alarm-clock-radio, it was almost quarter to 05:00 hours.

 

He sat up in bed, scrubbing his face with his hands, then standing up to make the best of the yawn-and-stretch he did every morning. When every joint capable of snapping, crackling, and popping had done so, he shuffled past his narrow bed to the door, one hand tugging the loose, grey sleep-pants he wore up a little higher on his hips.

 

“Who is it?” he asked habitually, as he pressed the button to unlock then open the door. It was likely either some functionary bringing him the details of another mission, or a pilot needing him to look over their weapons array before _they_ went on a mission.

 

Either prospect was far better than the broken sleep he’d gotten.

 

The door slid open smoothly, revealing a pilot, just as Finn had half-expected. Only. . . .

 

“Hope it’s not too early to come knockin’ on your door,” Poe Dameron murmured, his expression one of concern and hopefulness and about a billion other things Finn, fresh out of the worst sleep he’d ever gotten, couldn’t even read.

 

“Poe Dameron— _you’re_ awake before . . .07:00 hours?” Finn yawned, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. “Is it an emergency? If so, why are you in your dress-blues?”

 

Poe grinned and gave Finn a once-over that left the ex-Stormtrooper blushing and wondering why he hadn’t bothered to pull on a shirt, or at least hike the sleep pants up higher on his hips.

 

“Nope. It’s not an emergency. Well, not yet, it’s not,” Poe added, still grinning as he stepped into Finn’s tiny, obsessively neat quarters, looking around. “Maker preserve, Finn, do you have maid service? This place is so . . . neat!”

 

Still blushing and holding up his sleep pants, Finn waited for the door to whoosh shut before turning to face Poe, who was also still grinning, and now standing at the foot of Finn’s unmade bed. “Are you kidding me? This place is a wreck.”

 

Poe snorted. “Your bed barely looks slept in and I can see your floor. That’s more than I can say about my quarters!”

 

“Tell me about it,” Finn mumbled, stifling another yawn? “So what’re you doing here, other than gawking at my messy quarters?”

 

Poe took his own time to finish looking around the sparsely decorated room, before turning to face Finn, his grin turned into a smirk. A smirk Finn recognized as Poe’s _I’m-about-to-do-something-reckless-and-I’m-going-to-drag-you-along-with-me_ smirk. Immediately, Finn began to back away, hands held up in a half-warding, half-halting gesture. “Oh, no. Whatever it is, the answer’s _no_. A thousand times _no_.”

 

Poe moved closer to Finn, his face still all a-smirk, his hazel eyes—really, not another pair like them in the universe, ever, no matter what Maz Kanata believed—lit up in a way Finn had never seen. At least not directed at _him_.

 

“C’mon, buddy,” Poe wheedled as he backed Finn up against the wall next to the door. Finn swallowed, suddenly very nervous for absolutely no good reason, as Poe got close enough to brace his arms on the wall to either side of Finn’s shoulders. “I just wanna try something. . . .”

 

Which sounded entirely too familiar to Finn, but he was drawing a blank as to under what circumstances Poe had said it.

 

While his sleepy, one-track mind tried to remember, Poe took that moment of distraction as an opportunity to press his body against Finn’s, until Finn was trapped—though not unpleasantly—between a wall and a hard-place. His eyes widened until it felt as if they would fall out of their sockets and Poe nodded, grinding the . . . hard-place against Finn’s suddenly corresponding hard-place.

 

“Wh-what are you doing, Poe?” Finn demanded—squeaked was more like it—as Poe’s left hand left the wall and settled on right Finn’s hip, before sliding down to grip the underside of Finn’s thigh, pulling it up in a way that felt entirely familiar—entirely _right_ —despite Finn’s nearly mortifying shame.

 

Poe gazed into his eyes and that smirk turned into a smile. “You know I’d never do anything to hurt you, right, buddy?”

 

Finn nodded without hesitation. “I know, but . . . you’re still scaring me.”

 

Poe’s smile faltered and the light in his extraordinary eyes dimmed a bit. “I’m not here to scare you, Finn . . . I’m here to pick up where we left off.” And he pressed his body flush against Finn’s, darting in to suck damp, biting kisses along Finn’s jaw and down his neck.

 

All Finn could do was moan and let his head thunk back against the wall as Poe ground their bodies together, one hand hitching Finn’s leg higher, the other running up and down Finn’s side. Then those clever fingers were hooking into Finn’s sleep pants, tugging them down. . . .

 

In seconds, the pants were a grey puddle at Finn’s bare feet, and those oh, so _clever_ fingers were snaking their way between Finn’s body and Poe’s, not stopping until they were grasping Finn’s dick tight.

 

Poe’s hand, compared to Finn’s fever-hot flesh, felt delightfully cool. Finn gasped and the other man left off kissing and wreaking hickeys to look into Finn’s eyes, his own solemn and heated. “I _never_ should’ve stopped touching you. Didn’t _want_ to stop, because nothing that feels as good and as right as you, in my arms, could _possibly_ be _wrong_. But . . . we shouldn’t be doing this.” He stole a teasing kiss that left Finn’s lips tingling. “We really, _really_ shouldn’t.”

 

“I . . . I disagree,” Finn said, three octaves higher than his normal speaking voice, as Poe’s fingers stroked and teased and tormented him. “We should keep doing this until one of us has to leave the room in search of sustenance.”

 

Poe grinned. “Is _that_ what you think?”

 

“Yep.” Finn nodded vehemently.

 

“What about that perfect guy you were gonna wait for?”

 

Finn shrugged, blushing. “I think . . . I think I _already_ found him. Or m-maybe _he_ found _me_.” Finn searched Poe’s eyes, but couldn’t interpret what he saw there. Finally, he smiled a crooked half-smile. “Besides, I’ve never been good at waiting for the things I want,” he breathed, followed by a low groan as Poe’s teased the head of his cock, trailing wetness down the shaft.

 

“Is that what this is to you, then?” Poe’s eyelids lowered to half-mast, rendering Poe’s eyes truly unreadable to Finn. “Scratching an itch you can’t go any longer _without_ scratching, with someone who’s convenient and safe?”

 

“Yes—well, no. I mean—” Finn’s head thunked against the wall again and he sighed. It was tough to think when someone was stroking your cock . . . he’d heard that it was, but now he knew from firsthand experience. Wonderful, tight, teasing firsthand experience. “I just meant that— _yes_. It’s an itch I need to scratch. But you’re the _only_ person that could give me any kind of relief because _this_ _itch_? I’ve only had it since I met _you_.” Finn sighed and closed his eyes even as Poe’s surprised inhalation made his own eyes open wider. “I mean—oh, fuck, I dunno _what_ I mean! All I know is I _can’t_ _even_ when you do that, Poe.”

 

“When I do _what_?” Poe’s voice was smiling, amused. Finn risked a peek between his own squinched-shut lids . . . then his face went up in flames so hot, he was sure that as close as Poe was, he could see the blush. “Tell me what I’m doing to you, and how it feels. . . .”

 

“Don’t make me . . . _say it_.”

 

Chuckling, Poe leaned in to lick a stripe from Finn’s chin to his right earlobe, which he worried at with playful teeth. “I think I _gotta_ make you say it, Finn. In the interests preserving . . . you know. Kittens and democracy.”

 

Finn let out a held breath, on the back of which was a wheezy, breathless laugh. “You just like making me blush—not that anyone can _ever_ tell when I do.”

 

“I can _always_ tell when you’re blushing.” Poe leaned back a little, smiling lazily, his eyes still half-lidded. “You’re even _more_ adorable when you blush. But that ain’t the only reason I wanna hear you tell me what you want.”

 

Finn’s brow furrowed. “It’s not? You’re not just poking fun at me?”

 

Poe’s eyes and smile widened. “Weeeell . . . maybe a little. But mostly, I just like hearing you talk dirty in that _sexy_ , honey-smooth voice.” Waggling his eyebrows ridiculously, Poe let go of Finn’s leg and pulled him close, away from the wall, leaning their foreheads together. “I want you to tell me what you need. _Exactly_ what you need, in as much detail as you can manage. That way, I can _give you_ exactly what you _need_.”

 

Having left Finn gaping, Poe maneuvered them bed-ward. When the backs of Finn’s calves hit the edge of the bed, his weak knees deposited him on said bed in a graceless sprawl, with the sleep pants caught around Finn’s right ankle.

 

Aware, in a vaguely mortified way, that he looked absolutely ridiculous, Finn swallowed and scooted up his bed, kicking his right leg back and forth, trying to remove the sleep pants.

 

As of the moment his back hit the wall behind his bed, the pants were _still_ wrapped around his right ankle.

 

Poe, meanwhile, was still fully-dressed— _extra_ -dressed, since it was his blues—and chuckling at the sight Finn made.

 

Glaring, Finn bent his knees and pulled them toward his chest, then wrapped his arms around them. It did nothing to make him feel less . . . exposed, and it was it was kind of an uncomfortable way to sit when one was fully erect. “What? What’s so funny?”

 

Poe, still smiling, shrugged and began unbuttoning his tunic. “It’d make you blush, if I told you.”

 

Rolling his eyes, Finn clutched at his knees even tighter. “Oh, yeah? Well, I hear tell some people find it amusing when I blush.”

 

Poe tossed his tunic behind him. All the metal on it jingled as it hit the door. Next was his dress shirt—it, too, got the same unceremonious treatment as the tunic—which left Poe standing there like some shirtless demi-god, in nothing but his trousers and shiny boots. He was . . . _beautiful_. Hairy, but not _Wookie_ hairy. Not _so_ hairy that Finn couldn’t see the drool-worthy definition of his chest, abs, and arms.

 

“Uh . . . wow. . . .” slipped from Finn’s lips, and Poe hooked his fingers in the waistband of his trousers, smiling.

 

“I believe the word I used was _adorable_ , not _amusing_ . . . though it _is_ that, as well,” he murmured, and Finn, whose gaze was locked onto the way Poe was tenting out his formal trousers and the wet-spot darkening the navy blue to a midnight color, shook his head as if to clear it.

 

“Uh . . . _whuh_?” he asked Poe, eyes still lingering at crotch-level. Said lingering was not helped when Poe smirked and with some sort of sleight of hand that even Jedi probably couldn’t do, had the boots kicked off, trousers unzipped and unbuttoned, and orange boxers shucked and on the floor in point-five seconds.

 

Finn blinked and finally met Poe’s eyes. “How’d you do that?”

 

“Do what?”

 

Finn let go of his knee briefly to point at Poe’s hard-on. The other man looked down, then back up at Finn. “How’d I get _hard_? Uh, I’ve been doing that since I was ten, so it’s . . . kinda second nature to me now—just another part of my amazing skill-set.” He laughed. “Sorry, but I don’t really think that often about the how of it, anymore . . . though admittedly, in this particular instance, it was very much a team effort.” Poe grinned slyly. “Couldn’t have done it without _you_.”

 

Blushing again—not deeply, since all the blood in his body had fled southward—Finn rolled his eyes. “No—I didn’t mean _that_ , I meant—uh . . . what’re you— _Poe_ —” Finn squeaked as the pilot knelt on the foot of the bed and reached for Finn’s foot. The one tangled in his sleeping pants.

 

He gently, carefully, disentangled the pants from Finn’s ankle, and tossed them off in the direction of the closet, in deference to Finn’s neat-freakiness. “There,” he said softly, leaning down to kiss the top of Finn’s foot. “That’s better, isn’t it?”

 

“I—I—” Finn stammered, eyes gone wide as Poe, with decidedly hungry eyes, crawled up the narrow bed. Finn pulled his right leg back from Poe’s gentle grip and clutched his legs closer, his chin on his knees. “You’re, like, some kind of sex-Jedi!”

 

Poe burst out laughing. And—

 

#

 

— _kept on_ laughing until he was close enough to dart in and steal another kiss—which he did—then another after that. Until Finn’s arms had switched from clutching his legs to clutching _eagerly_ around Poe’s neck.

 

Poe grinned down at Finn. “Sex-Jedi, eh?”

 

Finn huffed snootily, and Poe kissed the tip of his nose. “Wanna play with my lightsaber?” And he waggled his eyebrows again, until Finn was obviously fighting a smile.

 

And so, the sex-Jedi bore them down to Finn’s bed, settling between Finn’s legs. He pushed the right one up and out as he kissed his way down Finn’s chest, pausing briefly to apply his teeth to both nipples, before laving them with his talented tongue.

 

Meanwhile, Poe had also been sliding his left hand up Finn’s thigh, until his fingers walked their way through crisp curls, at the center of which stood Finn’s undiminished erection.

 

“ _Poe_ ,” he breathed, his eyes tightly-shut. Then he gasped as Poe took him in hand, and stroked slow and hard. “I need . . . I _need_. . . .”

 

“Tell me what you need, sweetheart, and I’ll give it to you. _Anything_.” Poe pushed Finn’s left leg out and kissed the tip of his cock, then sat up, licking away musky, salty wetness. “Tell me.”

 

Finn’s eyes opened, shining and dazed. “More of _that_ —please? I mean, more of your mouth? On me?” And, as always when Finn blushed, Poe could see it quite well, the sienna-smooth skin acquiring a reddish tint that made Finn— _somehow_ —even cuter.

 

_No, he’s more than_ cute _. . . he’s_ beautiful _. Everything about him is . . . so wonderful. I love that he’s so inexperienced but still so eager and trusting. I love that he’s so responsive and brave. I love . . ._ him. . . .

 

_I_ love him _._

 

_I_ love _him_.

 

_Maker help me,_ I love him. _He’s everything I want and_ need _, and . . . I._ . . .

 

“Poe? Is . . . is something wrong? Am I . . . not . . . do _you_ not . . . _want. . . ?_ ” Finn was asking in sentence fragments, with a small, worried voice, his gaze lowered. Because of _course_ , he’d noticed that Poe had been woolgathering for the better part of several minutes, whilst staring at Finn’s cock. And _of course_ , being Finn, he thought that Poe’s hesitance was his fault.

 

Before Poe could even try to formulate an answer, Finn sat up, pulling his sheet and blanket over himself, his eyes still worried, but wary, now. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked—”

 

“No, Finn—you didn’t do anything wrong. It’s not you. It’s me.” And _of course_ , even as Poe said that, he realized how it sounded: Like a break-up line even someone as completely inexperienced with love and sex as Finn could spot for what it was. But Poe couldn’t think of anything else to say—couldn’t find the words that’d somehow come out perfectly with other guys who’d gotten too close.

 

Yet no one had _ever_ gotten _this_ close . . . none of the other guys—

 

_But Finn’s_ not _like those other guys,_ Poe suddenly understood, sitting back on his heels and staring at Finn, who was staring at his dark hands on the pale-blue sheet while sneaking glances at Poe. _He’s . . . smarter and sweeter and the most open-hearted person I’ve ever known. His enthusiasm for even the smallest things is . . . contagious. I can’t even remember the last time I was this happy for no other reason than just being around someone._

“I’m sorry,” Finn said finally, his low voice cracking as a tear rolled down his face, seemingly unnoticed and certainly unimpeded. “I mean—I shouldn’t have thrown myself at you like this. I know better than that. I _learned_ better than that. Hey—you think General Organa could arrange for me to go to whatever passes for re-education in the New Republic?”

 

And Finn was smiling his friendly, perfect smile, but it didn’t reach his too-shiny eyes. Poe instantly felt a sharp pain in his chest . . . kind of like guilt, only exponentially _worse_. “Finn,” he began, uncertain of what else would come out, but knowing he had to say _something_. Finn was standing up and dragging the covers with him, wrapping them around himself like a cocoon. “Sweetheart, _please_ —”

 

And Finn paused, turning a waiting, opaque gaze on Poe.

 

When no explanation or anything else was forthcoming, Finn smiled ruefully. “Whatever,” he said, and: “It’s okay, you don’t have to—feel bad or worry that you broke my heart, or whatever. Because you didn’t.”

 

Poe looked down at the bed. At his hairy knees. At the bed’s single pillow, gone askew and half-off the bed. “Finn . . . you’re my best friend. The best I’ve ever had. I don’t want to lose you or our friendship. You’re both far too important to me to risk losing you because we were—scratching an itch, okay? You see where I’m coming from, right? _Right_?” Poe risked a glance at Finn. The other man was staring off toward the small desk and chair placed catty-corner to the bed.

 

“I’ll always be your friend, Poe. Even if you don’t, won’t, or _can’t_ feel the same way I feel for you, I would _never_ stop being your friend—not for a second—just to hurt you or get back at you,” Finn said quietly, hands clenching and releasing in the sheet and blanket. Still, he wouldn’t look at Poe . . . not that Poe could blame him. “What hurts you, hurts me. What makes you happy, makes me happy. And if having sex with me is something that would _hurt_ you . . . if being just friends makes you _happy_ , then that’s all we’ll ever be: friends.” Now Finn looked at Poe and smiled. Though it really looked like a grimace. “Friends forever.”

 

And didn’t _that_ sound like the death-knell of something potentially . . . wonderful.

 

That hurt-y, guilt-y—and now, _weep-y_ —part of Poe cried out at him to not let it end like this: Finn walking to his small bathroom, swaddled in yards of sheet and blanket, his shoulders hunched up as if he expected a blow from somewhere, his head hanging practically down to his collarbone. . . .

 

What better start to a _forever-friendship_ than breaking one’s best friend’s heart?

 

Poe jumped up and padded across the small space between bed and open bathroom door. Finn was already stepping in and Poe knew—suddenly _knew_ —if he let this door close between them, then it’d be shutting forever on something . . . important. Something powerful.

 

Something _beautiful_. Even _more_ beautiful than forever-friendship.

 

“Wait—Finn!”

 

Finn paused in the doorway, but didn’t turn around. “I think you should go, for now, Poe.”

 

“What? _No_! Listen, Finn—” Poe caught Finn’s arm and the younger man stiffened, then carefully freed his arm. All without looking back at Poe.

 

“We’ll always be friends, Poe, but . . . I need some space for a little while, okay? Can you just . . . not be here right now?”

 

“Whatever you want—I’ll do _whatever_ you want if you’ll just look at me and let me. . . .” Poe fell silent as Finn turned just enough that Poe could see his profile.

 

“Let you . . . what? Explain? There’s no need. I get it, really, I do. Just . . . please be gone when I come back out, okay?” Finn stepped into his tiny bathroom, and the door immediately shut and locked.

 

Poe reached out to touched the locked door, splaying his fingers as his palm touched cool alloy. . . .

 

“I love you,” he whispered. “And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.” He backed away from the door, stopping only when the backs of his legs hit the bed. He went sprawling across the mattress, wiping at his eyes to relieve them of sudden stinging as he stared at the low ceiling. It was little better than staring at the bathroom door—which might as well have been three-foot-thick obscurantium and a thousand parsecs away, to boot—so he closed his eyes tightly. Not a milliliter of moisture escaped. “I’m sorry I can’t be the guy you need me to be. Hell, I can’t even be the guy _I_ need me to be.”

 

Poe sighed and lay there for a few minutes, eyes closed, until he started to drift off. He was just reaching the outskirts of dreamland when he felt something cool touch his cheek, then his forehead. It felt like a palm, only . . . metallic.

 

Suddenly wide awake once more, Poe opened his eyes just in time to get slapped by a metal hand. _Hard_.

 

“The _fuck_?!” he exclaimed, bolting up, swinging on whomever—or whatever—had so rudely woken him. His fist connected with metal plating that was just hard enough to make him cry out. He jumped out of bed, slipped on a bit of cloth, and fell on his ass on more of the same. It knocked the wind out of him completely, and left him panting and rubbing his eyes, trying to see clearly in the dim room.

 

_Wait . . . the room wasn’t dim a couple minutes ago. . . the lights were almost at one hundred percent, if I’m any judge,_ he thought as his vision cleared enough for him make out a tall splotch of gold and a smaller— _familiar_ —splotch of white, orange, and silver.

 

“Damnit—lights at seventy-five percent,” he barked, rubbing his jaw and cheek, which still stung. As the lights cycled up slowly, from dim to pretty bright, Poe rubbed the sleep from his eyes, then looked up at the colorful blobs standing over him.

 

“BB-8? C-3PO?”

 

[Beep-boop-wah!]

 

“Yes, Commander Dameron, it is I, C-3PO,” the golden droid responded, bowing genteelly and holding out a data reader. Poe automatically took it and touched the screen. Immediately, long, fancy words began to scrawl across the screen:

 

“Matrimonial . . . Prenuptial . . . bequeath. . . ?” Poe glanced up at BB-8 then at C-3PO. “Translation, please?”

 

BB-8 started beeping at the same time C-3PO started yapping, and for a minute, it was pandemonium. _Annoying_ pandemonium. Poe let go of his still-aching jaw and clutched his head, instead. “Guys— _guys_ , _please_ —one at a time!”

 

Both droids fell silent for exactly three seconds before BB-8 booped and C-3PO huffed. “Well! I should say so! Which one of us couldn’t awaken Commander Dameron? Which one of us eventually _did_ wake Commander Dameron? And which one of us was appointed by Princ—er, General Organa, herself, to stop by this morning with a wedding contract as well as a chip on basic wedding etiquette?”

 

[Beep-boop-boop.]

 

C-3PO gasped. “Well! I never!” He turned to Poe, clearly upset, and started yapping again, just as BB-8 started calling him names that Poe hadn’t been aware the normally sweet little droid knew.

 

He watched the two argue back and forth as his brain—no doubt stunned by that metallic slap—finally started to process what had been said so far. “Wait— _wait a minute_ , guys . . . you were having trouble waking me up?”

 

[Wahh.]

 

“Indeed we were, commander.” C-3PO nodded. “Well, I suppose I should say _your_ BB unit was having trouble waking you. I however, merely patted you lightly on the cheek—”

 

Poe snorted. “’Lightly,’ my ass!”

 

“Oh, dear, me, _no_ , commander. That wasn’t the cheek I meant, at all.” C-3PO shook his head and next to him, BB-8 began giggling his tinny, mechanical giggle.

 

Rolling his eyes, Poe got to his feet—waving off offers of help from C-3PO—and looked around his messy quarters.

 

Everything _looked_ exactly as it had, last night, but it _felt_ . . . off. His dry, gritty eyes scanned the room, stopping only when they came to the bathroom door. . . .

 

Picking his way across the messy floor, Poe stopped just out of the door sensor’s reach.

 

“Everything I ever wanted is behind this door,” he murmured to himself, his tone awe-stricken and filled with an almost childlike wonder. The data reader slipped from his fingers, hitting the floor with a solid _chunk!_ “All I have to do is reach out and touch it. . . .”

 

“I beg your pardon, commander?”

 

[Beep-beep-wahhh?]

 

But Poe barely heard either droid. He was reaching out to the alloy door, his hand within the sensor’s field. The door _whooshed_ open, and. . . .

 

Nothing.

 

There was nothing there.

 

Well, of course there _were somethings_ there. There was the toilet, the shower cubicle, the sink and the towel rack, on which hung no clean towels.

 

Other than all _that_ , however, there was nothing—no . . . _no one_ —there.

 

For some reason, Poe was disappointed. Hurt. Let down. As if he’d been promised something terrific, and all he got, instead, was a cramped and rather dirty bathroom.

 

Turning away from the scene of his utter disappointment, Poe looked at the two droids, hovering anxiously nearby. BB-8 was watching Poe curiously, while C-3PO was wringing his hands with rather grating low-frequency creaks.

 

“Where’s Finn?” Poe asked, without realizing he was even thinking about the other man until he spoke. And with that question came his memory of what’d happened last night: General Organa, the wedding ceremony, the corridor, Finn’s shy, but increasingly wanton kisses . . . and the feel of Finn’s legs wrapped tight around Poe’s waist, as if to keep him there forever. . . .

 

“Corporal Finn is, I presume, still in the commissary eating his breakfast, where last I saw him,” C-3PO said, shrugging. “I’m to see him after I see you. General Organa’s orders. Though I noted he seemed to be barely conscious, almost sleepwalking his way through the commissary. I dare say he looked even worse than _you_ do, Commander Dameron, if you’ll pardon my bluntness.”

 

“Gee, thanks,” Poe said wryly. But his mind was on Finn, more than it was C-3PO’s bedside manner. “Did he say anything to you?”

 

“Why, yes!” C-3PO said stridently. “When I approached him to remind him of our meeting today, he looked at me as if he wasn’t certain what I speaking of. _I_ took the liberty of reminding him of the general’s orders regarding the upcoming nuptials—the contract and vows and so on—and he apologized for having completely forgotten, chalking it up to a bad night’s sleep and strange dreams. But he said he was free all day, and would be waiting in his quarters to go over the contract. And he thanked me in advance for helping him with his vows.” The protocol droid sounded quite touched.

 

Of _course_ he did. Like most of the droids—and people—on base, Finn’s earnestness and willingness to help out wherever he was needed, had won him their respect and fondness.

 

Poe felt a brief burst of pride in Finn, even though Finn’s awesomeness was all his own doing—and all the more _remarkable_ for having sprung up in a viper-pit like the First Order.

 

_But its sounds like my future hubby had a bad night, and I’m betting it had something to do with what happened between us in the corridor. Meanwhile, I slept like a big, damned baby, and my_ own droid _couldn’t wake me up without getting_ another droid _to help._ Poe hung his head for a few moments. _I have to go talk to him. Set things right. I dunno_ how _, exactly, I’m going to do that, since everything that comes out of my mouth lately is both stupid and wrong. But I have to_ try _. . . ._

 

Nodding to himself, Poe started toward the door to his quarters, but both droids got in his way.

 

[Beep-meep-wooooo.]

 

“I’m afraid BB-8 is correct, Commander Dameron. General Organa specified that you were not to see the corporal before the ceremony tonight.”

 

Glaring at BB-8, then at C-3PO, Poe put his hands on his hips. “Oh, yeah? You two and what army’s gonna stop me?” He started to step around BB-8, who, before Poe could even put his foot down, extended his electric prod and feinted toward the bottom of Poe’s foot.

 

“BB-8!” Poe staggered back toward the bed. He sat and pulled his feet up off the floor, crossing his legs tailor-fashion. He glared at his droid, then turned that glare on C-3PO. “Do something!”

 

C-3PO wrung his hands and sighed. “I’m afraid the only thing I can do is to warn you that . . . I have been trained in three forms of Corellian martial arts, and will not tolerate deviation from the Princ—er, the General’s orders. Now—” the golden droid clapped his hands together brusquely. “While I explain the basic set-up of the contract, perhaps you might, er, get dressed?”

 

Poe looked down at himself and swore, as he realized he was bare-ass naked in front of two of the most gossipy droids in the Republic. He buried his face in his hands. _Whatever_. He needed to see Finn _right now_!

 

Though, in light of his nudity and lingering grogginess, immediately chasing after Finn seemed rather . . . unwise. And anyway . . . something told Poe that Finn wouldn’t be terribly glad to see him _right now_. Especially if Poe was nude.

 

(Usually, well-timed nudity only _helped_ Poe’s cause, not _hindered_ it.

 

These were strange times in which he found himself.)

 

Sighing, Poe looked up at the droids. C-3PO was holding out a pair of relatively clean trousers, and BB-8 was holding out a t-shirt that smelled as if it could’ve walked _itself_ to the laundry.

 

But Poe took both articles of clothing and spared a few last thoughts for Finn: _Is he okay? Is he mad at me? Will he still want to go through with the wedding? Do I_ want _him to still go through with the wedding? Maker-above, the only person who could give me any kind of useful advice right now would be Grandpa Card. . . ._

 

Ignoring twin pangs of sadness—one caused by thinking about his grandfather, the other caused by thinking about Finn—Poe pulled on his stinky red t-shirt and markedly less stinky grey trousers.

 

Glancing at the droids playing guard duty—BB-8 with his electric prod still out and C-3PO trying disastrously to assume the Crane-Gobbles-Tiger stance—Poe retrieved the data reader from the floor and resigned himself to a long, _very_ _long_ day.

 

TBC


	4. The Plan 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt (http://tfa-kink.dreamwidth.org/1082.html?thread=51770#cmt51770): They go on a mission where they have to pretend to be married! Complete with sharing a room with only one bed, having to act affectionate towards each other, and all those wonderful fake marriage tropes.
> 
> Bonus points if they already have secret feelings for each other and it makes everything even more awkward at first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes/Warnings: Vague spoilers for Episode VII.

“Well . . . how do I look?” Poe asked, fighting with the buttons—which were slightly too big for the buttonholes of the ultra-formal tunic C-3PO had had delivered to his quarters—or maybe the buttonholes were smaller than standard. Either way, he was on the horns of a dilemma: push too hard, and he’d pop the buttons right off the brocaded fabric. Not hard enough and the heavy tunic would simply hang open, and he’d look like a damned idiot who couldn’t even button his own uniform correctly. “I mean, besides like a fucking hotel lobby sofa.”

 

[Wahhh. Beep-Boop-Dap!]

 

Poe snorted again and lost the slight toe-hold he’d had on getting the first button into its corresponding hole. Sighing, he sat on his messy—though less messy that it’d been when C-3PO had arrived—bed, leaning forward so BB-8 could assist him with the buttons. “I dunno about _dreamy_ and _patriotic_ , but I feel like a fool. Who knew there were different uniforms for different occasions?”

 

He, for one thing, hadn’t known there was a uniform that was even a few steps up from the formal uniform worn more habitually by the higher-ups and less occasionally by the lower-downs. Apparently there’d been a uniform meant to be worn to great victories—maybe even _the_ _victory_ . . . the fall of the First Order—or similar occasions worthy of celebrations.

 

There hadn’t been many of those on base, in the past fourteen years. Even when missions were wildly successful, there’d barely be any refractory time _between_ missions, let alone time to celebrate in hideously overdone uniforms. No, General Organa preferred not to rest on her laurels, and followed up successful missions with _more_ missions, or at least recon and information gathering.

 

But with the destruction of Starkiller Base, and the smaller, though no less successful missions immediately thereafter—with no signs, thus far, of Kylo Ren, General Hux, or Supreme Leader Snoke or their whereabouts—there was little to do besides shoring up the battlements, as it were, and having a celebration to beggar all the other celebrations for which they’d never had time.

 

 _Figures the general would kill two birds with one stone. Though why one of those birds has to be_ mine and Finn’s _wedding . . . if I’d known it’d be like this, I’d never have—_

Poe’s thought trailed off right there, and he shook his head. _If I’d known it’d be like this, I still would’ve proposed to Finn. Maybe I’d have asked for time off first and we could’ve eloped . . . but I would’ve proposed anyway. I want Finn to be part of my family—to be a Dameron, for keeps. And since he’s a little too old to be adopted, this’ll have to do. And anyway, after he and I have been married for a few months, and things have settled down and Grandpa’s land is mine, maybe we could. . . ._

 

Poe didn’t know how to finish that thought, either. For after marriage, what was there left for couples to do but either stay together and start a family, or get an annulment or divorce?

 

In all honesty with himself, Poe didn’t know which eventuality horrified him more.

 

[Beep!]

 

Startled out of his reverie, Poe looked down at his tunic. Each button was buttoned, and in the right place. Grinning at BB-8, he stood up again. “Thanks, buddy.”

 

[Weee-Wooo.]

 

Poe grabbed the hat—every one of the damned uniforms, it seemed, had a hat that made its wearer look like a galactic-cruise director or captain—and went to his bathroom to take a last look at himself in the mirror above the sink.

 

He looked . . . well . . . he _looked_ _official_ , if nothing else. Already sweating in the brocaded monstrosity he’d agreed to wear, Poe took a deep breath and put on the stupid cruise-director hat. It was almost as heavy and heat-holding as the tunic. Poe knew he’d have horrible hat-hair before the wedding was over.

 

_Not that I care. This is all just a big farce thrown by the general to boost morale. Finn and I know the truth about this marriage. He’d have been fine if we’d gotten married in a supply closet. It’s not like Stormtroopers are raised to be Bride-Vaders. He wouldn’t know the difference between a wedding ceremony and a funeral._

 

 _Which may have been true_ , Poe thought, wincing guiltily. _But he deserves_ better _than a supply closet or a funeral. He deserves . . . romance and fancy, stupid tunics and cruise-ship captain’s hats and—whatever craziness General Organa’s cooked up. He’s doing me a solid favor and all I’ve done in return is complain and confuse him._

Turning away from his own gaze in the mirror, Poe strode out of the bathroom, hands jammed in the pickets of his fancy trousers. BB-8 was quietly picking up Poe’s room, one dirty shirt, one wrinkled pair of trousers, one pair of wadded up boxers at a time. Said articles of clothing went into a standard issue VacuSeal duffel the BB unit was dragging around. Poe watched the droid for a few minutes before chuckling.

 

“What are you _doing_ , BB-8?”

 

[Weet-woop.]

 

Poe’s right eyebrow quirked. “Packing? Okay, but I’m not gonna need _all_ my dirty laundry for this honeymoon. Just about a quarter of it,” he said dryly.

 

[Beep-beep-boop.]

 

“Well—we’ll be gone for about two galactic standard weeks.”

 

BB-8 looked from Poe, to the pair of boxers he was holding, to the duffel—which was really starting to look full—and back to the underwear.

 

Finally, BB-8 hoisted the duffel onto Poe’s messy bed, next to two data readers—one on marriage contracts, the other on wedding etiquette—then zipped past Poe into the bathroom.

 

The underwear went down the laundry-shute.

 

Rolling his eyes, Poe watched his droid friend scoot past him and grab a few more articles of clothing from off the floor—which Poe hadn’t seen in months. He’d forgotten it was a steely blue-grey. “BB-8, what’re you doing _now_?”

 

[Whistle-beep!]

 

“Yes, Finn and I are getting married, but we’re not gonna spend our wedding night _here_ , remember? So there’s no need to tidy up the place. . . .”

 

[Wahh-wahh. . . ?]

 

“Well, after the wedding ceremony, you, me, and Finn are going to Yavin 4 to meet my family. Whaddaya think of that, huh?” Grinning, Poe smoothed his ridiculously fancy uniform.

 

[Beep-boop-WAAAAW?!]

 

“Well—yes. It’s a galactic tradition that the married couple spend the first night after their wedding . . . putting the seal on the deal. But that’s not the way Finn and I work—”

 

[WAAAAW?]

 

“Because—because—none of your business, that’s why,” Poe said, crossing his arms and glaring. But BB-8 merely cocked his head at a different angle and regarded Poe as if he was some interesting species of alien potato.

 

Finally, the small droid sighed and shook his head. [Beep-beep-dap-wooo.]

 

Poe snorted. “I know Finn better than you, pal, and believe me, he’s not going to want to give in to some superstitious claptrap. We’ve both had enough of that, please and thank you.”

 

BB-8 rolled his head from side to side—it was as close as he could come to a shrug—and turned toward the door, beeping quietly to himself.

 

“Hey—where’re you goin’?” Poe demanded. “You’re my best man!”

 

[Beep-beep-boop!]

 

“Whaddaya _mean_ it’s _classified_?!” Poe’s eyes widened and he approached BB-8, stopping only when the droid extended his electric prod. Poe held up his hands in surrender, and sat on the bed. “Are you going on a mission without— _me_?” he teased, but only half-jokingly.

 

[Wahh.] Then BB-8 was already zipping through the opened door at top-speed, taking a left. By the time Poe got to the door and looked out, BB-8 had turned another corner and was gone.

 

Ducking back into his quarters with a sigh, Poe grabbed the data reader with his vows—which had been finally approved of after hours of C-3PO taking him to task and talking him to death—and sat at his desk, looking them over again.

 

After the three millionth such reading over, Poe grumbled to himself about one particular line, mid-vow: “ _to experience the connubial bliss which awaits us on our first night as a wedded couple.”_

 

Just the thought of saying that not only to Finn, but in front of thousands of people was . . . mortifying.

 

 _What harm could it do_ , he wondered, tapping his lips with the stylus, _if I just changed that one line a little? Made it a little less droid-y and awkward, and more like something a human being would say? The absolute least Finn deserves is vows that aren’t . . . creepy . . . even if the marriage is a sham._

 

Poe never hesitated with the stylus over the offending line. He wasn’t afraid of what C-3PO might say later, nor was he afraid of embarrassing himself in front of his friends, peers, and superiors.

 

The only thing Poe Dameron feared in this universe—at least in this moment—was speaking wedding vows that meant _nothing_ to him, when Finn . . . Finn meant _everything_ to him.

 

#

 

“Well. Do I pass muster?”

 

C-3PO gave Finn a once-over and clasped his hands together. “You look splendid, Corporal! Simply splendid! Commander Dameron will be quite beside himself when he sees you,” the protocol droid said, and Finn smiled ruefully.

 

“Yeah. That’s one way to put the way Poe feels about me,” he mumbled under his breath, picking up the uniform hat and putting it on. “This hat makes me feel like a cruise director, C-3PO. Could I just—skip the headgear? Or wear a different hat that makes a better statement than: ‘ _And if you look to our left, you’ll see the Lido Deck. To our right is the commissary._ ’”

 

“Oh, Corporal, you _do_ have quite a delightfully piquant wit!”

 

“Um . . . thank you?”

 

C-3PO waved a dismissive hand. “You’re quite welcome. And you’ve done splendidly on your wedding vows, as well! Unlike Commander Dameron, you have the soul of a poet! And the vocabulary of someone who actually paid attention in his language arts classes!”

 

“Yeah . . . I can imagine Poe must’ve been . . . a bit difficult to get poetry from.” _At least if the subject was me_. . . .

 

C-3PO sighed. “You don’t know the half of it, Corporal. Why, I wrote every word of those vows of his, up to and _including_ the _I love you_ s! Really, I shudder to think where Commander Dameron would be if not for—er . . . is everything alright, Corporal Finn?”

 

Finn forced a fake smile on his face and blinked back stinging tears before he looked up at the droid again. “Everything’s fine, C-3PO, I just, uh, had something in my eye.”

 

“Ah, yes, it _is_ allergy season on D’Qar . . .terrible pollens and weeds abound.”

 

“Yeah,” Finn agreed absently, brushing his hands down the front of his uniform. Then he sat on his bed, next to his VacuSeal duffel, which he’d packed the night before. Next to the duffel, was the reader with his vows on them. Vows that, unlike Poe’s apparently, had been written by the person who was going to say them.

 

Not that it bothered Finn that Poe had had to have help from not one, but two droids to fake up some vows. Even though Finn had resigned himself to the fact that Poe would never love him or ever want him in the way _Finn_ wanted to be loved and wanted, knowing that Poe couldn’t think up a few lines of nice things to say hurt. Made it tough for Finn to breathe around what felt like stones weighing down his heart.

 

 _This is a bad idea. It was_ always _a bad idea. Why didn’t I listen to Chewbacca? Why did I let General Organa throw us a big, fancy to-do wedding, when we could’ve gone to one of the other generals or admirals to get married? Why did I let Poe kiss me in the hallway_. . . .

 

And right on the heels of that came an even fresher, much more intense memory. One that filled Finn with pain, confusion, desire, and yearning all at once.

 

 _Why did I have to have that stupid . . . dream? Hallucination? Whatever it was. It wasn’t real, no matter how real it felt in the moment. Poe didn’t come to my room, looking like sex on legs. He did not kiss me, nor touch me, nor did he almost-but-not-quite stroke me off. It was all wishful thinking, on my part. Poe doesn’t love me—doesn’t even_ want _me, even with his reputation for fucking any consenting and of-age male on the base—he just sees me as some . . . sexless, repulsive freak that he felt sorry for enough to kiss, but not enough to fuck._

 

 _Poe doesn’t want me, he’s just grateful that I’m helping him keep his inheritance. He probably_ pities _me for being a virgin at twenty-two. Hell,_ I _pity me for being a virgin at twenty-two. And it’s not like I’ve been stealth with my feelings over the past couple days. He must know how I feel about him. He_ must _. He just . . . doesn’t return those feelings and can’t think of a nice way to tell me. Maybe he’s even afraid I’ll back out of the wedding and he’ll lose everything after all. . . ._

 

Finn sighed and shook his head _. No, I won’t do that. If nothing else, he’s my best friend. He deserves whatever help I can give him, even if it hurts me to do it._

 

“Is . . . is everything quite alright, Corporal Finn?”

 

Shaking his head, Finn put on a smile that felt like a rictus and looked up at a hovering C-3PO. “Everything’s fine. Just, uh . . . allergies, again.”

 

“Ah, yes. Terrible thing to have to deal with.” The droid shuddered dramatically and Finn smiled for real, this time, in spite of himself. “For a moment, there, I thought you were crying.”

 

“Uh—no. No, just itchy, burning eyes, that’s all,” Finn lied, wiping at his eyes, surprised at the wetness he found gathered in them.

 

“Tsk-tsk, would you like me to go to the infirmary and get you some allergy tablets?”

 

Finn almost demurred, but when he realized it meant C-3PO would be gone for at least a quarter of an hour—fifteen minutes of blessed silence in which to collect himself and prepare for this sham of a marriage—he nodded eagerly. “Yes, please, thank you! The non-drowsy-kind.”

 

“But of course, Corporal. And I am glad to be of assistance!”

 

As soon as the door closed behind the strident droid, Finn reached up to touch his neck, whereon half a dozen hickeys dotted his skin.

 

For a few moments, he wondered—not for the first time that day—if Poe really _had_ been in his quarters . . . but then he laughed the notion away, also not for the first time. More likely it was just a psychosomatic reaction to the events of a very vivid dream.

 

But even if the dream _had_ somehow been _real_ , at the end of it, Poe had made himself perfectly clear: he’d only wanted to be Finn’s friend, nothing more.

 

And Finn had promised . . . had _sworn_ that he wouldn’t let anything, even his own supposedly unbroken heart come between them. That forever-friends was all they’d ever be.

 

Hadn’t _that_ hurt like scalding water to the face? The death of his hope that somehow, during the course of their wedding or marriage, Poe might . . . discover _feelings_ for him. . . .

 

Ha! Poe Dameron didn’t do _feelings_! Not romantic ones, anyway. And certainly not for some lame, ex-Stormtrooper who trailed along after him like a lovesick puppy.

 

_Who was I fooling by thinking that maybe I’d be different—maybe I’d matter for him in a way none of his other lovers did? Who was I fooling thinking that whatever’s between us could possibly lead to a shared happily ever after?_

 

_Only myself._

 

#

 

“ _Maker’s Mark_ , what in _hell_ is taking so long?” Poe demanded of no one in particular, from the chair General Organa had all but ordered him not to get out of until it was time to join Finn before the podium. The chair itself was old, wooden, and rickety. Poe was careful not to jostle it too much, lest it break under him, sending him ass-first into a pile of splinters. “Maybe I should go find Finn, since no one else seems to be able.”

 

“Ah-ah, Commander. You’re sitting right where the general put you. Even if I have to babysit you, myself,” Admiral Statura—who was strolling by in his dressiest blues, and with a data reader in each hand—said with a laugh in his low, no-nonsense voice. Poe frowned. Then smiled hopefully.

 

“But—my fiance’s clearly gone missing and no one can find him—I’m the only person who knows where he goes to be alone, or when he’s angry or hurt or just overwhelmed.” Poe grasped the arms of the chair. “I’m the only one who knows how to find Finn even when he doesn’t _wanna_ be found.”

 

Admiral Statura looked up from his data readers—photographic memory, the man had. Everyone was so jealous of such a talent . . . except for Poe. _Poe_ thought being able to remember _everything_ sounded fucking _awful_ —his eyebrows halfway up to his hairline. “Is that so, Commander? And just what makes you think that on his wedding day, Corporal Finn is, as you say, angry, hurt, and overwhelmed? And, let’s not forget, not wanting to be found?”

 

Poe blushed and looked down. “I—may have said some things . . . and done some things, last night. . . .” trailing off, Poe risked a look up at the Admiral, who was watching him with that patient, questioning gaze that never failed to get people to talk to him. Poe supposed that now included himself. “The bottom-line is, even when I’m trying to do the right thing, I get it _wrong_ , and _his_ feelings get hurt without me meaning to and he’s never less than cool about it, because he _knows_ I’m a fuck-up—an insensitive _clod_ who just breaks his heart and disappoints him—who goes in, blasters a-firing, without ever taking a moment to maybe reconsider my approach, and he _still loves me_ and is still willing to marry me, despite all the stupid, thoughtless things I’ve done and continue to do on a near-hourly basis, and he just _accepts_ me the way I am . . . maybe even _loves_ me the way I am, and—and—”

 

Admiral Statura calmly held up one hand in a halting gesture, and Poe fell silent. The admiral leaned on the wall against which Poe’s chair was placed.

 

“Listen, Dameron— _Poe_. I know a lot about the pre-wedding jitters. Anyone worth their salt, who’s marrying someone worth bandying around the word _forever_ about, gets them. No matter how great things between you two are, you’d have to be crazy not to get the jitters, or even cold feet.” Admiral Statura patted Poe’s shoulder and looked down at him with a reassuring smile. “The trick is _not_ to give in to those fears that make you jitter and your toes turn into ice cubes.”

 

Poe sighed, and looked down at his boots. His feet were bopping and sliding to some rhythm of their own devising. “Yeah. I get that, but what if . . . what if after all this time, Finn’s come to his senses and realizes he can do better with his life? What if he’s changed his mind? What if . . . fuck, what if he’s just plain scared that being married to me is going to be nothing but heartbreak after disappointment after stupid-fucking-mistake after—”

 

“I doubt your young man thinks of you that way, Poe.”

 

“Yeah, well, what if you’re _wrong_ and that’s _exactly_ how he thinks of me? What if I can’t make him happy? What if I screw up so bad, that he’d rather be anywhere, with anyone but _me_. What if—”

 

“Ah, let’s don’t get too mired in the What-If’s, shall we?” The admiral laughed. “I’m certain that Corporal Finn’s absence is just a hiccup. He probably misplaced his cufflinks or is still trying to memorize his vows.”

 

Poe’s heart leapt in his chest . . . then sank like a stone. “You don’t understand, Admiral. Finn never misplaces _anything_. He’s so neat and organized—a place for everything and everything in its place—that if something _does_ turn up missing in his quarters, you can be sure it was stolen. As for his vows. . . .” Poe sighed and dug in his pocket for the printout of his vows, which he’d been unable to memorize as of eighteen hundred hours. “I’ll bet his vows are . . . perfect. Just like him.”

 

Admiral Statura’s brow furrowed. “Wow. You’ve got it _bad_ , Dameron.”

 

“Got what?”

 

Rolling his eyes, the admiral stood up straight and clapped Poe’s shoulder again. “Tell ya what: Why don’t I try and get an update on the corporal’s whereabouts and you . . . just wait here so you don’t make the general angry?” Another clap to the shoulder and Admiral Statura started to walk away, toward the curtain that separated backstage of the auditorium, from the stage itself. Poe almost stood up and went after him. Almost.

 

“But—wait—I could come with you and help find him! I promise _none of you_ are gonna find him if he’s hiding. Not without _me_.”

 

“Just relax, Poe. This wedding’s going to go off without a hitch,” the admiral tossed over his wiry, under-padded shoulder.

 

“Ah, c’mon, Admiral Statura . . . at least gimme permission to look around for myself! I can’t even get outta this _chair_ without the general’s permission . . . or maybe an _admiral’s_!”

 

“Are you _crazy_?” Admiral Statura paused and turned to regard Poe while backing onto the stage. He somehow managed not to step on any wires or trip on all the equipment waiting to be tripped over. “General Organa obviously wanted you to _stay put_. So _put_ is where you’ll stay till she orders you otherwise.”

 

“But—you _outrank_ her!” Poe exclaimed.

 

“So?” Admiral Statura snorted. “Doesn’t mean I’m not afraid of her. Enjoy the last of the single life, while you can, Dameron.”

 

And with that, the admiral was gone. Crossing the width of the stage to exit stage right.

 

Poe growled and leaned back in his chair-prison . . . which gave one alarming creak before collapsing under his weight.

 

The reverberations of the chair’s ultimate demise hadn’t yet ceased, before Poe was on his feet and running for the back door.

 

#

[Beep-beep-boop-waah.]

 

Finn glanced over his shoulder, away from the targets lined up and ready for a blaster shot to the face. “Oh, it’s you. How’s it going?”

 

BB-8 whistled and beeped and chirped, and Finn snorted. “You know I still don’t speak droid, right? At least not as well as pretty much everyone in the Republic can.” He holstered his blaster pistol and stood, arms akimbo, eyeing the remaining targets. “Want me to find someone who can translate for you?”

 

[Beep.]

 

Frowning, Finn turned to regard BB-8 full-on. The little droid rolled into the otherwise empty shooting gallery, not stopping till he was at Finn’s shiny, booted feet.

 

[Waah-wooh?] he asked, looking up at Finn, who blinked.

 

“Um . . . you either asked me if ice cream has fleas or why I’m at the range . . . I guess I can answer both questions. First off, ice cream does _not_ have fleas. Not even as a specialty topping. That’s probably the grossest mental image I’ve ever had in my life. I may never be able to eat ice cream again. Thanks for that.

 

“Secondly, killing stuff, even if it’s just targets, calms my nerves. I guess it’s the Stormtrooper in me.” Finn sighed and shrugged. “And there’s something very calming about this range. There’s almost never anyone here.”

 

BB-8 appeared to give both answers serious thought before beeping some more. Finn’s eyebrows rose and he retrieved his hat from the bench behind the range’s stations.

 

“Well, yeah, it _does_ smell kind of like dirty feet and sour milk, but such is the ambiance of Shooting Range #19. It stinks on ice, so nobody really uses it, except me.” Finn’s smile faded a little. “Did Poe send you here?”

 

BB-8 shook his head no, and _boop_ ed and _waah_ ed for nearly a minute. Finn shook his own head.

 

“Wow, my binary really _is_ terrible. That last part sounded like you said General Organa trapped Poe in a chair made of rotten meat.” Finn made a face.

 

[Boop-beep!]

 

“ _Ohhhh_ . . . a chair made of _rotting wood_ . . . okay, that makes more sense and is marginally less disturbing,” Finn put his hands on his hips again and stared down at the droid, who stared back up at him. “Well, I guess we’d better go ‘free’ him. After all, he’s got a wedding to attend.”

 

Corporal and droid left the shooting range, the latter beeping quite a lot—either about the wedding or a grand opera house on Coruscant—the former unable to get in a word edge-wise, and glad of it.

 

#

 

[Beep-boop!]

 

Finn nodded. “Yes, BB-8, I can see Poe’s gone,” he said, staring at the pile of wood and fabric that clearly had been a chair until recently. Around them, the occasional functionary or droid bustled by with data readers and ear/mic combos. They paid neither Finn nor BB-8 the slightest bit of attention. Finn doubted they’d know where Poe had gone.

 

_Well, he’s either running for the hills, or—_

 

“There you are, Corporal Finn! We’ve been looking all over for you!”

 

“Yes, we have.”

 

Sighing, Finn turned and smiled lamely at C-3PO . . . and the general.

 

Neither looked especially happy to see him despite having been looking for him, however. “Uh . . . I was, um, blowing off some steam at a shooting range and I . . . lost track of time until BB-8, here, found me.”

 

“You were at a shooting range forty-minutes before your wedding?” the general demanded, hands on her hips and eyes squinting. In the super-formal ceremonial togs—minus the stupid hat . . . rank had its privileges, after all—she looked even more intimidating than she usually did. Finn blushed, but nodded.

 

“Yes, ma’am.”

 

“Men.” General Organa pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed, shaking her head. “Well, this’s one of them, found. I don’t suppose you know where Commander Dameron is, do you, Finn?”

 

“No, ma’am. I haven’t seen him since yesterday, like you commanded.”

 

“Lovely.” General Organa heaved another sigh and muttered something about needing six bottles of Tatooine pop-skull, minus the drinking glass.

 

C-3PO gasped. “Princess! I mean— _General_!”

 

“Oh, hush, C-3PO,” General Organa ordered, bending a sharp gaze on Finn and BB-8, who both quailed under such a look. BB-8 even ducked behind Finn’s legs, peering out and up at the general warily.

 

“This is turning into a circus! As soon as one of you appears, the other disappears! It’s insane!” General Organa said, looking like the very picture of exasperation. Then she sighed again. “Alright, it’s almost time anyway. Finn, I want you to wait right here with C-3PO until it’s time for him to walk you out onto the stage. BB-8, you’ll come with me and help me find your master, so we can get this show on the road.”

 

[Beep-beep! Boop-waah—MEEP! MEEP! MEEP!]

 

Everyone looked toward the back door, except for Finn, who was frowning as he tried to parse binary. “Um—I understand that you’re extremely _fond_ of rhubarb, BB-8, but I’m _deathly_ allergic, so I can’t _make_ you a rhubarb pie, but . . . wait—how does a droid even _eat_ _pie_ —oh!”

 

Upon following everyone’s gazes—and BB-8’s eerie-fast zipping around his legs, toward the back door—Finn’s eyes widened and, in spite of himself, he smiled.

 

“Heyya, Poe.”

 

Poe Dameron—looking like some fairytale's missing prince—let the back door close behind him with a loud slam, then bent to pat BB-8 on the head. All without taking his eyes off of Finn. “Hiya, buddy,” he said affectionately, though whether he meant Finn or the droid was hard to tell.

 

Finn’s smile faltered and he looked away.

 

“And the other one turns up, at last!” General Organa said, looking up toward the ceiling and spreading her hands. Then she was glaring at Poe. “When I tell you to sit in a chair and _stay there_ , I _mean_ it, Commander!”

 

Poe approached them, his eyes still on Finn, who could only sneak shy peeks at his fiancé. “Sorry, General, but the chair broke and I, uh, went looking for another chair. Yeah—that’s it. I was just trying, uh, to follow orders,” he said, with a perfectly straight face.

 

Both Finn and General Organa rolled their eyes. “I’m sure that’s exactly what you were doing. In any event, it’s time to start the ceremony. See if you can get to the right of the stage without having any adventures, would you?”

 

“Yes, General!” Poe saluted and strode off, an excited BB-8 at his heels. Finn watched him go for all of three seconds before he caught up to Poe, taking his arm.

 

“Wait—Poe . . . I have to—” Finn groaned and hung his head, speaking quietly. “That is . . . if you don’t want to go through with this, I understand. I know things between us have gotten . . . weird. So if you want to back out now, before you’re tied to me by anything other than friendship . . . go ahead. We’ll still be friends, no matter what. I promise.”

 

Poe’s brow furrowed for a moment, as if he was trying to remember something . . . then he shook his head and smiled, cupping Finn’s face in his hands and leaning in till their foreheads touched.

 

“Finn, I—”

 

“Do you two _wanna_ get hitched tonight, or not?” General Organa called from behind them, that exasperation leaching into her voice.

 

“Well, that _does_ seem to be the question of the day,” Poe said jauntily, but quietly. Finn found himself smiling.

 

“I leave it to you. Either way, we’ll be friends forever,” he said, meaning it with all his heart. For if friendship with Poe was all that was ever on offer, Finn would take it, he decided, and be glad of it.

 

Poe leaned back to search Finn’s eyes, and grinned. “Yes, ma’am, General Organa. I wanna get married. I do,” he called over his shoulder. “What about you, Finn?”

 

Finn pretended to think about it. “You mean I get a last name for free and without filing ten tons of paperwork with the Republic? Hell, _yeah_ , I’m gettin’ married today!”

 

Poe laughed, his thumbs stroking Finn’s cheekbones. “Alright, then. Alright,” he murmured, leaning in slowly, so slowly, that Finn had no idea he was about to be kissed until Poe’s lips brushed his own. But before Poe could even press Finn’s lips firmly, Finn was laughing and snorting and holding Poe tight.

 

“You smell like the stinky shooting range,” Finn whispered. He could feel Poe’s blush on his right cheek, and the other man’s arms wound around Finn’s waist. Poe’s sniffed delicately.

 

“Yeesh, I’m not the only one! What’d you do, spend the night in there?”

 

They both leaned back to look at each other, then laughed again. “I’ll have you know I was engaging in a little target practice.”

 

“Just before our wedding?” Poe rolled his eyes. “That’s _so_ romantical of you.”

 

“It’s stress relief!” Now Finn was blushing, too. Of course, Poe noticed—somehow, he _always_ noticed—and chuckled.

 

“Boy, you’d hate to see what _I_ do for stress relief. . . .” he muttered, waggling his eyebrows in a fairly ridiculous way.

 

“I . . . I don’t think I’d _hate_ _it_ , at all.” Finn blushed even harder and glanced away for a few seconds to collect himself. When he looked back up at Poe, it was to see the other man narrow his eyes as if he was trying to figure something out. . . .

 

“Look—the both of you stink to high Heaven, alright?!” General Organ chimed in to say. “I can smell the feet and sour milk-stench from here! But there’s no time to do anything about it, _now_.”

 

“General Organa is, of course, correct! Bathing will have to wait until after the ceremony,” C-3PO said from right behind them, causing both men to start. “Alright, off we go to take our places for the ceremony! Commander Dameron and BB-8, please stand just behind the curtains, stage right, while I wait here with Corporal Finn.”

 

“Oh, okay, yeah.” Finn reluctantly let go of Poe, who just as hesitantly did the same. “Good luck, Commander Dameron.”

 

Poe bit his bottom lip, leaned in quickly, and bussed Finn’s cheek and lips lightly. “Ditto, Corporal Dameron,” he said, and Finn shivered, smiling.

 

Then their droids were ushering both men—with many glances back at the other—to their places.

 

#

 

General Leia Organa watched BB-8 lead Poe around the piles of equipment and the dark, heavy curtains, and C-3PO lead Finn to his spot, not twenty feet away.

 

 _Well, it’s like my mother used to say_ , she thought, almost smiling. _The rockier the wedding, the smoother the marriage. And those two were made for each other, anyway. All that’s left is to get through this ceremony. Then, I can go back to the relatively relaxing work of commanding an entire resistance cell._

 

She looked down at her uniform—which, with all the insignias, medals, and epaulets, had to weigh at least twice as much as the woman who wore it—smoothed it and sighed.

 

_It’s showtime._

 

TBC


	5. The Plan 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt (http://tfa-kink.dreamwidth.org/1082.html?thread=51770#cmt51770): They go on a mission where they have to pretend to be married! Complete with sharing a room with only one bed, having to act affectionate towards each other, and all those wonderful fake marriage tropes.
> 
> Bonus points if they already have secret feelings for each other and it makes everything even more awkward at first

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes/Warnings: Vague spoilers for Episode VII. Wedding ceremony rituals, such as they are, cadged from: http://www.nycido.com/services.html

“Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the wedding of Commander Poe Dameron—” General Leia Organa began, her smoky voice evenly and comfortably audible throughout the huge auditorium. She nodded to her right and the aforementioned commander, sauntered out on the stage, followed by his BB unit. Applause went up from all over the huge space, and Commander Dameron waved and grinned. He stopped, the BB unit at his heels, when he reached General Organa, who held out her right hand for him to take. And when he did, she smiled at him, and went on. “And Corporal Finn—” the corporal took a deep breath and walked out on stage, tripping on a cable and only narrowly missing hitting the floor face-first. But his best man—C-3PO—caught him and helped him right himself. So he continued past the heavy, dark curtains and out into the spotlight—and the sudden riotous applause—in which his fiancé and their general stood, smiling radiantly. General Organa was, of course, lovely, but the corporal hadn’t eyes for anyone but his betrothed.

 

(Neither, it should be noted, did his betrothed have eyes for anyone else.)

 

The corporal stopped when he reached the general—C-3PO at _his_ heels—and took her proffered left hand. When the applause died down—after swelling for a minute more—General Organa went on. “These two _dear_ friends of ours, have found that special "someone" to love and trust with heart, mind, and soul.”

 

The corporal looked down for a moment, frowning ever so slightly, his brow furrowed. But when he looked back up at Commander Dameron, it was to see steady, certain eyes and an earnestly happy smile. One that the corporal returned rather shyly.

 

“They have someone special to come home to, after a long search. They have found someone to support them and comfort them in times of trial.” General Organa paused and looked at each officer. “They also know they have good reason to be happy together . . . and we rejoice with them in their union.”

 

Near the stage, the section in which the pilots sat burst out in cheers, wolf-calls, applause, and shouts of their commander’s name . . . as well as no few calls for the young corporal, who blushed so hard, for once, everyone could see it.

 

When that section had calmed down enough for the general to be heard once more, she pulled the commander’s and corporal’s hands closer together, but not quite close enough for them to touch.  
  


 

“We _also_ celebrate with them the love they have discovered in each other and we support their decision to commit themselves to each other for the rest of their lives,” she said in a ringing voice that probably would’ve been audible even if not for the discreet mic pinned to her tunic. “Marriage . . . is an honorable and noble estate in which to be joined. And it is not to be entered into lightly, but thoughtfully and reverently.”

 

This time, the commander was the one to look down for a moment, his face both pained and wistful. When he looked up again, a few seconds later, it was to see his affianced watching him with wide, worried eyes. Eyes that said: _It’s not too late to stop this, if that’s what you want. I’ll go along with this if it’s what you want, but if it’s not . . . I’ll be by your side for that, too._

 

But rather than let his fears overcome him, the commander dug deep and found his jauntiest, most carefree grin. A grin that said: _Bring it on_.

 

“ _Marriage,”_ the general went on pointedly, causing both men to smile a little and assume their best poker faces, “is a commitment to take another person as a Friend, Companion, Lover, and—if need be—Champion.”

 

 _You’re my champion_ , the commander mouthed. _My_ hero.

 

The corporal’s smile widened. _And you’re mine_.  
  


 

Then the general was speaking again, addressing the crowded auditorium—and the digital feed going out to those who were either on duty around the base, or who hadn’t been able to get in before the maximum capacity was reached in the auditorium. “Who amongst us will give Corporal Finn to be married into the Dameron family, for the rest of this life and beyond?”

 

The auditorium went silent as everyone looked around to see if _anyone_ stood up. For it was well known that Corporal Finn had no parents, no family to give him away. No one in the First Order, not even the Stormtroopers themselves, knew where they’d come from originally, or what had happened to their parents and families.

 

Neither the corporal nor his affianced knew what would happen next, for C-3PO and the other droids had been mum on the details of the ceremony that didn’t involve their prepared vows.

 

After glancing around the auditorium nervously, the corporal had just hung his head, quite ashamed that unlike everyone else present, he had no one—whether present in person or in spirit—to give him away.

 

“Anyone?” the general called mildly. “Does anyone give this young man into the Dameron family?”

 

More silence, for nearly a minute, before the doors of the main entrance to the auditorium banged open.

 

Standing in the doorway, limned by moonlight, were two cloaked and cowled figures, the shorter one in grey, the taller one in brown. Both figures strode down the middle aisle, each carrying a staff, though it was obvious that only the shorter figure was actually relying on it to walk.

 

About halfway down the aisle, the shorter figure paused. When the taller figure glanced back and would have gone to the aid of his companion, the shorter one waved him off. And after a moment of reluctance, born of clear concern, he turned and continued his long-legged stride to the stage. When he reached it, he climbed the narrow, built-in stairs to the left of the podium and just past the pit reserved for an orchestra, then stalked across the stage toward the corporal, who was squinting as if trying to make out a face through the low-hanging cowl.

 

The cowled figure didn’t stop till he’d reached the general—who was smiling warmly—the commander—who looked completely lost—and the corporal, who was still trying to peek under the cowl.

 

“I’ll speak for this young man as family, and give him away to the Dameron family, if that is his wish,” a rasping, but strong female voice said, and the corporal’s face lit up in a huge smile when he heard it.

 

“That’s my wish,” the corporal said with barely contained excitement. “That’s _so_ my wish!”

 

The cowled woman nodded once, and reached up to push back that cowl, revealing a tanned, angular face, that was rather too strong and too stark to be pretty, but just right to be handsome. Chin-length dark hair surrounded her face, fine and straight as a ruled edge, except for one braid that hung down to the middle of her back.

 

“Rey!” Corporal Finn exclaimed, turning to give the young padawan a one-armed, but strong hug. The padawan hugged him back tight. “I wasn’t sure I’d ever see you again in person!”

 

The padawan laughed. “I told you we’d meet again. That I had a feeling.” She leaned back, glancing at Commander Dameron then grinning at the corporal. “You look well . . . clearly marriage agrees with you, _Corporal_ Finn.”

 

Corporal Finn blushed again. “We’re not married _yet_. Not till some moof-milker Jedi gives me away, already. Hint-hint.”

 

Padawan Rey laughed, holstering her staff, and slung her arm around the corporal’s shoulders then she grinned at the general. For a moment, anyway, before her face became a solemn and respectful mask . . . though her lips twitched just a tiny bit. “I, Rey Kenobi, do give this man, Finn, with joy, hope, and pride, to Poe Dameron and the Dameron family.”

 

General Organa smiled and, still holding the commander’s and corporal’s hands, picked up where she’d left off. “And who accepts this young man on behalf of the Dameron family?”

 

“I do,” Commander Dameron said firmly, a small smile gracing his lips. “I take him as my lawfully wedded husband, giving him my name and my unwavering support for the rest of our lives and b-beyond.”

 

General Organa nodded once. “The uniting of two individuals from two separate families and backgrounds, to establish a new family, is an important and memorable event. The uniting of this couple is an occasion of _great_ significance which we can all celebrate. Marriage is not a casual event, nor is it simply a private affair between two individuals. It is a ritual of hope that is shared not only between the two so united, but their friends, family, and peers. It is momentum in the face of entropy. It is love in the face of hate. And it is order in the face of chaos. It is the foundation on which we have built our civilization and the light with which we have pushed back the darkness.”

 

Now, at last, General Organa brought the commander’s and corporal’s hands together. Their fingers linked automatically and, once more, they had eyes for no one else.  
  


 

The general nodded to the padawan, who backed away a few feet. Then General Organa spoke: “Marriage is to be entered into responsibly and mindfully. This marriage brings together, on this day, two individuals and two families, but one light. The same light that shines in all those who are good-hearted. This light deserves and needs the support of a _wider_ commitment from all present, by offering Commander Dameron and Corporal Finn our continued support, love, and best wishes in their lives together, in their _love_ together, which they publicly express in this ceremony.” General Organa glanced at each man, then said: “As is the tradition throughout the Republic, the couple has prepared their own vows.”

 

#

 

Poe Dameron was so busy staring into his fiance’s eyes that he missed General Organa’s cue completely. At least until Finn smirked and squeezed his hand, nodding slightly toward the general.

 

“Your _vows_ , Poe,” she hissed through her smile. “You _did_ remember to write some, didn’t you?”

 

“Oh! Yeah, of course!” Poe reached into his right trouser pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper, trying to smooth and flatten it with one hand, while his other hand still held on to Finn’s. When he’d gotten it flattened to his satisfaction, he cleared his throat and scanned the paper, a pronounced frown growing, as well as significant brow-furrowing. He opened his mouth and, instead of reading out loud, he mouthed the words to himself for the bajillionth time.

 

 _I can’t say this stuff! It’s awful!_ He thought angrily, glaring across at an unjustifiably smug C-3PO. _Even the line I fixed is still really, really terrible. What do I do?_

Glancing at the audience, then at each person on stage, Poe had an idea.

 

He recrumpled the piece of paper, and tossed it over his shoulder. C-3PO gasped, and General Organa groaned and rolled her eyes. Rey’s eyes widened, and her lips twitched again, as if she wanted to laugh. Poe glared at her, then locked his gaze on Finn, who looked extremely worried, and wouldn’t meet Poe’s eyes.

 

_Right. It’s go-time. No looking back. Time to pull some vows outta my ass and make ‘em pretty, like Finn deserves._

 

“I, uh,” Poe started, his face trapped in a horrified rictus of a grin. “I had these vows, see, that weren’t written by me. A, um, friend, did the writing, and I thought I could just step up here, read what he’d written, and that’d be good enough.” He paused when Finn, frowning, met his eyes. Poe smiled a little. “But then I realized that _good enough_ was _not_ good enough. Not at all. Not for you.

 

“So, I’m gonna do what every pilot worth his salt would do at a time like this. I’m gonna fly this vows-thing by the seat of my pants.” Poe sighed, and took a step closer to Finn. “Finn, baby, you’re the best friend I’ve ever had. And I love you like I love flying, only . . . I think I _must_ love _you_ _more_. See, I never really felt like I had _actual_ _wings_ till the day we met . . . when you saved my life. I never, in my entire life, flew so high . . . nor fell so hard as I did the day we met. Both literally _and_ figuratively, because that tie-fighter escape was _in-tense_! I mean, I flew my _ass_ off and you were the most kick-ass gunner I could ever ask for! You had my back. And even then, I knew we were an unbeatable team. I never doubted that, not even once. Not even when we got shot at and I crashed us in the middle of the freaking Goazon Badlands. Which, by the way, was my bad.”

 

Poe bit his lower lip and smiled at Finn, who was smiling back radiantly, his eyes sparkling and settled on Poe as if he’d hung the moon . . . some moon, or other. “Anyway . . . I . . . I said it before and I’ll say it again: I gave you a name on that crazy fucking flight. And you _kept_ that name. Every time I use it or hear someone else using it, I get this crazy-happy feeling all over my skin and as deep as my bone marrow. This feeling that you’re _mine_ , because I gave you a name, and you only name something that you love, right? That’s a tradition that goes back so far, I don’t think anyone knows where it comes from. And personally, I don’t care. Because I’ve realized that any schmoe can give a man a name he pulled out of the air. But it’s takes a real man with real love in his heart and a _genuine_ commitment, too, to share his last name and all that that entails, forever.

 

“All of which is to say,” Poe dug in his right pocket and came out with a plain, linty platinum ring. He held it up and blew the lint off it, then held out his right hand. Finn, wide-eyed—teary-eyed—automatically offered his own left hand. Poe grinned and slipped the ring onto Finn’s left ring-finger and looked back up into Finn’s dark, shining eyes. His heart felt as if it was doing calisthenics—as if it’d burst out of his chest with a kind of joy he’d never before felt. “I promise to you, Finn Dameron, before our family and friends, to commit my life and my love to you; to be with you through life’s changes; and to nurture and strengthen the love between us, as long as we both shall live.”

 

#

 

“I . . . wow, I . . . I don’t know what to say, Poe.”

 

Finn laughed a little and looked down at the ring on his finger. _That means we’re half-married. All I have to do is add my vows to the mix, only . . . I’ve completely forgotten them! Every last word! Why didn’t I bring a printout like Poe did?_

 

“Just say what you feel, Finn,” Poe murmured, squeezing Finn’s hand and winking. “You’ll do fine.”

 

“Well, I’m glad at least one of us has faith in me,” Finn sighed, closing his eyes for a few moments to collect himself. He opened his mouth to take a deeper breath and instead of exhaling carbon dioxide, he exhaled words. And those words were _not_ brain pre-approved.

 

“I guess . . . you’ve always had faith in me. Even when I was just a stupid Stormtrooper with an even stupider plan to escape the First Order’s clutches. No one had ever had faith in me before. And certainly not faith that I would do the right thing. I was just another nameless, faceless drone, programmed to kill on command. I swear, all I knew was killing and white uniforms till the day we met.” Finn’s smile faded and he looked down at the platinum ring on his finger. “The day that changed my life forever.”

 

Looking up again, Finn searched Poe’s face. “If I could’ve named you, the way you named me, I’d have called you _Always and_ _Forever_ . . . or perhaps . . . _Please-Don’t-Ever-Go_ , because from the moment you named me, I was yours. Always and forever. No matter what. I will always be, first and foremost, your friend. I will always be in your corner, no matter what you do, whether it’s right or wrong—though, if it’s wrong, I'm totally gonna ride your ass about it till you straighten up and fly right, so to speak.”

 

Poe’s smile widened and he pulled Finn’s hand up to his mouth, kissing the palm. Finn shivered and lost his train of thought. So his brain fell back on the only thing that seemed right. The only thing that seemed to matter, at the end of the day.

 

“Poe Dameron, I’m in love with you. I will always be in love with you. Even if you didn’t, wouldn’t, or couldn’t love me back the way I love you, I will _always_ love you and always be by your side.” Finn’s smile made a triumphant, if teary return, then he freed his hand from Poe’s to dig in his pocket for the wedding ring. It was a plain, rose-gold band, sans pocket-lint, and it slipped easily onto Poe’s ring finger. Finn thought his heart would beat right out of his chest.

 

And in that moment, the final lines of his written vows came back to him. “I, Finn D-Dameron, take _you_ , Poe Dameron, to be my lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part. According to the design of the Maker, I pledge you my faith, my loyalty, and my life.”

 

#

 

General Organa glanced from corporal to commander, her own eyes shining rather suspiciously.

 

“Well,” she said, nodding slowly and blinking rapidly. “We who have come together today have heard the willingness of Commander Poe Dameron and Corporal Finn, to be joined in marriage. They have come of their free will and in our presence, have declared their love and commitment to each other. They have given and received a ring as a symbol of their promises. Into this estate these two persons present come now to be joined. If _anyone_ can show just cause why they may not be lawfully joined together, let them speak _now_ , or _forever_ hold their peace.”

 

Dead silence in the auditorium. Not that the momentarily wedded couple even noticed, caught as they were in each other’s gazes.

 

The general went on, concluding the ceremony. “Therefore, by the power vested in me by the laws of the New Republic, I take _great_ pride and pleasure as I declare them . . . wed. Gentlemen: You may now kiss your husband.”

 

The corporal’s eyes widened as he gazed at the commander. The commander grinned and pulled his husband close, until itchy, uncomfortable brocade met itchy, uncomfortable brocade. Then he slid his arms around the corporal’s waist just as the corporal tentatively slid his arms around the commander’s neck. For nearly a minute, they stared at each other, the rest of the world utterly forgotten as they each tried to wrap their minds around what’d just happened.

 

What was _still_ happening.

 

“Oh, Maker’s saggy _tits_ , just _kiss_ , already!” General Organa hissed, ignoring C-3PO’s horrified gasp and the padawan, Rey’s, snickering.

 

“Yeah, no kiss, no marriage, boys,” Rey teased, shoving the corporal at his husband, just as BB-8 shocked the backs of the commander’s calves, causing the commander to yelp and jump forward. As a result, the two collided rather painfully, shins barking, knees knocking, noses bumping. Another shock from BB-8 and Commander Dameron was toppling over on top of his newly-wed husband. They landed on the stage in a pile of stiff brocade and flailing limbs.

 

“Well—that’s good enough for Republic work, I suppose,” General Organa muttered, then put on her brightest smile and spoke extra loud, to be heard over the moans and groans of the fallen, wedded pair. “Ladies and Gentlemen, I now present to you Misters Poe and Finn Dameron!”

 

#

 

“You alright?” Poe asked lowly, under the thunderous applause in the auditorium. He maneuvered himself to his knees and helped Finn sit up, as well.

 

The younger man looked around them at the applauding well-wishers, at Rey, at General Organa, and—was that _Chewbacca_ , in the shadows of the curtains leading to stage right?

 

“Yeah, I’m alright. Are you?”

 

Poe snorted. “I’m a little crispy about the legs, but otherwise fine.” He glared over his shoulder at BB-8, before returning his full attention to Finn. “I’ll live.”

 

“Well, that’s good.” Finn looked up as Poe stood and offered his hand. Taking it, Finn was pulled to his feet without much input or help from himself.

 

Once they were both standing, Poe smirked and wrapped one arm around Finn’s waist. “You were amazing.”

 

“Oh, go on. I forgot my vows and had to improvise,” Finn blushed and Poe held him closer, reaching up to cup his face in one hand.

 

“At least you had vows prepared beforehand. Ones that didn’t suck huge hairy ones.”

 

Leaning into the touch, Finn smiled. “Well, for a guy who was flying by the seat of his pants, you did a fantastic job.”

 

“Yeah?” Poe leaned closer, his thumb brushing lightly across Finn’s cheekbone. “You think so, huh?”

 

“I _know_ so.” Finn also leaned closer, noting the way Poe’s eyes darted to his lips, and the hand that’d been resting on the small of his back was moving a bit further south. “That would’ve been the perfect wedding, if. . . .”

 

“ _If_?”

 

 _If it was_ real, Finn thought, but didn’t say. Instead, he smirked, too. “If we hadn’t gotten knocked down by our supposed best friends.”

 

Poe chuckled, his eyes flashing playfully. “Yeah. We didn’t even get to kiss. And you heard Rey—no kiss means no marriage.”

 

Finn rolled his eyes. “Yes, I’m sure she’s a real expert on matters of matrimo—mmph!”

 

The cheering in the auditorium increased, exponentially, as Finn and Poe kissed—said kiss going from tentative and sweet to wanton and licentious in a matter of seconds, hands roaming to places that, had they been outside on an average day, they’d have been arrested for public indecency and put on KP duty for a month.

 

When a dearth of oxygen forced them apart, they didn’t go far, leaning their foreheads together and laughing.

 

“So,” Finn panted. “What now?”

 

Poe leaned back to look into Finn’s eyes and grinned. Then he kissed Finn’s forehead.

 

“Now, Mr. Dameron, we get outta these torture-device tunics and into some civvies, and we party our asses off!”

 

Finn smiled. “That sounds like a plan and a half.”

 

Poe took Finn’s hand and together, they exited, stage left.

 

#

Poe Dameron—showered and dressed in relatively clean civvies—ambled down the hall, a bottle of champagne in one hand and two flutes in the other.

 

When he reached Finn’s quarters, he was about to press the buzzer when the door opened.

 

Usually, Finn kept his door sensor on voice-lock. But then, on this day, there was no reason not to leave it unlocked, since everyone was probably getting the party started without them, in the commissary and environs.

 

Shrugging, Poe entered Finn’s quarters. There was no sign of Finn, which either meant he was back at the auditorium or commissary—unlikely—or he was taking a well-earned shower, like Poe had.

 

Between the heavy brocade jackets and the stinky shooting range, the latter was much more likely.

 

The room was teeth-grindingly pristine. Poe sighed and put the bubbly and the glasses on Finn’s desk, and took himself over to the bed, on which were laid out a dark blue shirt, black trousers, and boxers with constellations on them.

 

Rolling his eyes, Poe flopped down on the bed, clothes and all, just to mess it up a little. Or maybe a lot.

 

He was mid-sixth bounce when the bathroom door opened and Finn stepped out in a waft of steam, wearing nothing but a towel . . . on his head, as he dried his tightly-curled hair.

 

He clearly had not expected Poe this soon.

 

Poe stared for a few moments before clearing his throat in amusement. Finn froze . . . then whipped the towel away from his head, and wrapped it around his waist.

 

“You, uh . . . got here sooner than I expected,” Finn said, blushing. Poe smiled lazily, still giving Finn a once-over despite the towel.

 

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t in the stinky range as long as you were.” He laughed and sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Finn watched with wide eyes as Poe stood and closed the distance between them in a few steps. When he was close enough that he could smell Finn’s scent—soapy, clean, kind of musky—he closed his eyes and sighed. “You smell really _good_ , now. What, uh . . . what soap do you use?”

 

“Um. The same soap as everyone else on base uses, I guess,” he mumbled, stepping around Poe to get to his bed and his clothes. “Ah, damnit, Poe, now my clothes are all wrinkled!”

 

Eyes still closed, and his entire body broken out in goosebumps and shivers, Poe turned to face the bed. “So, what? No one’s gonna care. At worst, they’ll think we, uh, started our honeymoon early after we changed our clothes.”

 

Finn grumbled and Poe opened his eyes. Finn was trying to shake the wrinkles out of his shirt, to limited success. And in the process, the towel was slipping dangerously low on his hips.

 

Moved by an impulse that he couldn’t name, but that he instantly understood, Poe once again crossed the distance between them—slowly, this time, until he was directly behind Finn, who was now muttering about his wrinkled askew trousers.

 

Smiling a little, Poe reached out and hooked his fingers in the slipping towel. Finn immediately froze, the trousers dropping to the bed.

 

“P-Poe . . . what’re you d-doing?” he asked in a tiny, startled voice.

 

“I think that should be fairly obvious, Finn . . . Finn Dameron.”

 

Finn shivered, but otherwise didn’t move when Poe pressed his front to Finn’s back, his hands sliding to the front of the towel, where it was tucked in, but still slipping.

 

“I’m _serious_ , Poe . . . what— _ohhhh_ ,” Finn sighed when Poe began kissing his nape, then down and across to his left shoulder blade, his tongue flicking out to taste Finn’s skin. “Poe, we _shouldn’t_ —”

 

“ _Yeah_ , we should. We’re _married_ , now, remember?” Poe smiled on Finn’s damp skin. “And to be honest, I’ve been wanting to do this since the moment you took off that stupid Stormtrooper helmet. You were—you _are_ —so sexy. So beautiful. So . . . amazing.  And I’ve been fighting it for a long time, because you’re younger than me and you’re so . . . innocent. Fuck, you’re a _virgin_ , even!”

 

Finn stiffened again and tried to pull out of Poe’s arms . . . but Poe wasn’t having any of that. “Let me go.”

 

“ _Never_. Weren’t you paying attention to those vows we made?” Poe sighed, nuzzling Finn’s neck as one of his hands tugged on the towel. A second later, it was a white puddle at Finn’s feet and Poe’s hand was resting on a surprisingly hard hard-on. Which explained why Finn had been in the bathroom for so long. “Look, I know that I’m probably nobody’s idea of a fond first time. I’m not romantic, or sweet, or especially gentle and tender. Hell, I can think of ten guys right off the top of my head, with quarters not too far from yours, who’d be better for your first time, than me, and—”

 

“Let _go_ of me and stop treating me like a child, Poe.” Finn growled. “I don’t need you to find guys who’re so desperate to get laid, they’ll be _nice_ to me while they pop my cherry!”

 

Frowning, Poe turned an unresisting Finn to face him. Finn— _his husband_ —was scowling murderously, and not meeting Poe’s eyes.

 

“I just meant that . . . there’re guys around here that’d be . . . sweet and romantic about taking your virginity. They’d bring you breakfast in the morning and maybe even a rose, or something like that.” Poe sighed again. “I just . . . I know you feel . . . _feelings_ for me—”

 

“You don’t know anything, Poe.” Finn’s tone was bitter.

 

“And I think—Maker help me—that I _feel feelings_ for you, too. How could I not, I mean . . . you’re, like, the perfect guy! Good-looking, smart, funny, kind, talented, and just . . . _perfect_.” Poe looked down at Finn’s chest. Put his towel-mussing hand over Finn’s heart. “You deserve better than me. Whatever it is you think you feel, will fade, if you give it time, and then you can find someone who’s. . . .”

 

“What? Not _you_?” Finn snorted when Poe looked up into his eyes. “You think you’re some itch I just got, willy-nilly? That you’re a problem I just need a dick—any dick—to solve, and then my feelings would go away? Do you really think I’m that shallow?”

 

“No—no, Finn, I don’t think you’re shallow at all, I just—we went through some shit together, and that can create bonds where there’d otherwise be none. And trust, too, where there’d otherwise be none.” Poe shook his head. “Do I want you? Maker, _yes_. _So_ fucking much. You’ve been my stroke fantasy since . . . since the day you finally opened your eyes from that damned coma. I want you so much, I have absolutely no frame of reference for describing it, because I’ve never felt this way about anyone. _Ever_. I think . . . I think I might even love you. Maybe even with all my heart and the soul I never believed in ‘til I met you.”

 

Finn’s eyes grew saucer-wide and Poe smiled sadly. “Yeah. Who knew I had a heart? _And_ a soul?”

 

Blinking away the anger that shone in his eyes, Finn leaned closer. “ _I_ knew.” He searched Poe’s eyes and bit his lip. “I always knew.”

 

“Then you’re a better man than I, Finn Dameron.”

 

“No . . . don’t do that. Don’t turn this marriage into a joke before it’s even gotten out of the gate.” Finn took a deep breath. “I want you to be my husband, Poe, in every sense of the word. I know you’ve got your reasons for keeping feelings out of what’s essentially a business arrangement. But the thing is . . . the thing is. . . .”

 

Finn swallowed and leaned in until Poe met him halfway for a kiss that was short, sweet, and simple. When it ended, Finn leaned his forehead against Poe’s. “The thing is, I’m so in love with you, I can’t even remember what it feels like not to have this ache in my chest where my heart’s supposed to be. And even if you never love me back, the way I love you . . . I wouldn’t change my own feelings for all the universe. I gave you my heart because I love you . . . and I always will. There’s no one at fault, and there’s nothing anyone can do to change that.”

 

With that, Finn pulled out of Poe’s embrace and sat on his messy bed, smiling shyly. He patted the spot next to him.

 

Poe took a deep breath and did as he was bidden, sitting neither close nor far from Finn, who chuckled and scooted closer to Poe, till their shoulders and thighs were touching. After a minute, during which Finn stared at Poe’s profile, and Poe stared down at his boots, Finn sighed and laid his head on Poe’s shoulder. Poe automatically put his arm around Finn’s bare shoulders and held him close.

 

“All I ask of you is one night. Even if you never want to touch me again once the sun’s risen, please, Poe. Make love to me tonight. Don’t let me pine after something that never was.”

 

Poe kissed Finn’s wet hair and tilted the younger man’s face up toward his own. Finn’s hopeful, vulnerable dark eyes were pools to drown in. Poe couldn't even see the shore to swim toward it, and probably wouldn't have, even if he could. The drowning felt too good.

 

“If we, uh, don’t get back to the reception, everyone’ll think I’m fucking you cross-eyed, anyway,” Poe said, his face bright red for once.

 

Finn smiled and began unbuttoning and unzipping Poe’s trousers, snaking his hand in and navigating his way past Poe’s boxers. “Well, then, let’s give the gossips something to be right about, for once.” He waggled his eyebrows the way Poe normally would have.

 

“Oh, _fuck_. . . .” Poe groaned, bucking up into Finn’s tentative, but firm grip. Then he was nuzzling Finn’s nose before capturing his lips in a kiss that made them both moan desperately. “Maker-alive, you got any idea what you _do_ to me?”

 

Finn gasped as Poe pivoted on the bed and did some kind of take-down move that ended up with Finn flat on his back and pinned to the bed by Poe’s grip on his wrists. He tried to break the hold experimentally, but couldn’t.

 

“Let go, Poe. I want—no, I _need_ to touch you.”

 

Poe leaned down to steal a kiss that turned into several as he released Finn’s wrists. The younger man immediately placed his hands on Poe’s chest, mapping out with his fingers, territory he’d only rarely seen with his eyes.

 

Finn tried unbuttoning, then finally just ripped open the shirt, and Poe shrugged the remains off tossing them away. Finn ran his hands up Poe’s muscular, fuzzy chest and wrapped his legs around Poe’s hips. His dark eyes gazed yearningly, hungrily into Poe’s. “I _really_ want you inside me.”

 

“Maker’s Mark, I . . . _fuck_ , I want that, too. You got any, uh . . . slick? You know . . . lube?” Poe asked as he ground his hard-on against Finn. The younger man’s eyebrows lifted nearly up to his hairline and he laughed.

 

“Um, actually . . . I do. As of this afternoon.” Finn nodded his head toward his night table, and Poe opened and rummaged through the small top drawer. Not that he had to do a lot of rummaging. The drawer was practically empty and everything in it was neatly placed. Poe found the tube of lube in seconds and took it out, squinting at the label.

 

“ _Passion’s Play Personal Lubricant_?” he read, then burst out laughing. Finn blushed and glared.

 

“Don’t laugh at _me_! _I_ didn’t buy it! It was a gift!”

 

Poe’s laughter suddenly cut off and he scowled. “So . . . what you’re saying is, someone else on this base is buying _my husband_ lube. Huh. That is an _interesting_ occurrence.”

 

"Jealous, much?" Finn rolled his eyes. “Actually, it was a pre-wedding gift from C-3PO—don’t ask, I’m just glad it’s here to be used.”

 

Not sure whether to be jealous, grateful, or horrified that a protocol droid felt it appropriate to give _Poe’s husband_ lube, Poe finally shook his head and flicked the cap open. He was immediately wrapped around in a scent like lilies of the valley had puked up carnations that’d eaten tulips for breakfast.

 

“C-3PO _does_ know we’re men, right, Finn?” Poe leaned in for another kiss . . . one that practically _tasted_ like the obnoxious-smelling lube. “Not seventy-five years old women?

 

“Of course he does . . . I think. But look at it this way: it smells better than Shooting Range #19.”

 

“So do six dead Hutts who’ve been lying in the sun all day!” Poe snorted, then sighed. “That’s not saying much, sweetheart.”

 

Finn’s smile suddenly shone up at him, bright and lovely. Poe couldn’t help but return such a smile. “What? Don’t tell me you _like_ that dreadful scent!” he asked, brushing his fingers down Finn’s cheek.

 

“No, I don’t like the way it smells, but . . . you just called me _sweetheart_.” That winning smile was bright enough to read by on a dark, moonless night, and Poe turned red again. But before he could backtrack and possibly wreck this surprisingly good moment, Finn pulled him down into another kiss. This one lasted through Poe and Finn trying to maneuver off Poe’s trousers and boxers. It lasted through Poe squeezing out some of the floral-smelling lube and letting it warm before he began stroking Finn off. It lasted through Poe pushing Finn’s legs up and out, and trailing lube-slippery fingers behind Finn’s balls, to the strip of delicate skin immediately behind them, then to the small, pink pucker behind _that_.

 

The kiss even lasted between Finn’s gritted-out moans of: “Please, Poe . . . please . . . I need you to—to. . . .”

 

Now, at last Poe broke the kiss to look down into his husband’s desire-dark eyes. He, himself, had never felt such a torturous, slow-burn _yearning_ for anyone. It scared him, of course, but at the same time, he was very glad that he could share such an experience with his best friend . . . with his _husband_. “What, sweetheart? Tell me what you want—what you _need_ —and I’ll give it to you.”

 

“I need—I _want_ —” Finn suddenly laughed, closing his eyes and biting his bottom lip. “Maker move us, Poe, I _want_ you to fuck me cross-eyed and I _need_ you to do it five minutes ago.”

 

Poe grinned. So far, married life was pretty damned sweet. “Sir, yes, _sir_!”

 

Five minutes after that, Finn was laying on his stomach—under which was the bed’s lone pillow—moaning and groaning as Poe finished stretching and preparing him with the flowery-smelling lube. He removed his fingers from the tight confines of Finn’s long, lean body and grabbed the tube of Passion’s Play. He slathered what seemed like half the container on his cock and had just lined himself up for the slow, but determined push into that tight, pink entrance . . . to what could only be described as . . . paradise.

 

The tip of his cock had just barely brushed against the guardian muscle, when there was a _whoosh_ from behind them—the _whoosh_ of a door opening—and voices.

 

“. . . told you, Master, they’re probably back at the wedding reception and oh, Maker, save us!” the familiar female voice cried out, half-horrified and half-amused.

 

“You have much to learn about the ways of newlyweds, my young padawan,” a male voice said, amused and slightly rough with disuse . . . as well as hoarse with suppressed chuckles. “Well. No time like the present, I suppose, to begin those lessons. Lesson one: When walking in on two—or more—people expressing their love in the universe’s oldest terms . . . quickly turn around and walk right back out.”

 

Indeed, the male voice was growing distant. As was the female’s.

 

“Too-bloody-right, Master! Let’s just wait out here until they’re done. . . .”

 

The door to Finn’s quarters shut with another whoosh, leaving Poe and Finn, frozen in the exact same position they’d been in thirty seconds ago, before the two Jedi interrupted. And stuck that way for some mortifying number of seconds thereafter.

 

Finally, Finn sighed and looked over his shoulder at Poe, who was still on his knees and one hand was braced on the bed (the other was wrapped around his slippery, though no longer so erect cock).

 

“Well, _fuck_ ,” Finn sighed, and Poe snorted.

 

“Not with the two of them outside, waiting, we're not.”

 

“But _Poe_. . . .”

 

Poe let go of his dick and leaned down to kiss Finn’s auricle. “It’ll keep ‘til later, sweetheart. I promise.”

 

"Okay, that's so unfair, using the S-word on me." Finn grumbled, and buried his face in his arms. “I want you _now_ , Poe. Can't I have you? _Please_?”

 

Finn pouted up at his husband. The power of the pout was indeed strong with Finn. But Poe resisted: he sat back on his heels, cleared his throat, and wiped his lube-y hand on Finn’s pristine sheets. “Delayed gratification can be kinda . . . _sexy_ , you know?”

 

“Not on my _wedding night_ , it can’t.” Finn sat up, glaring at the door as if daring it to open again. When it didn’t, he hopped out of bed, striding to his closet. “C’mon, fly-boy, we’ll get this Jedi problem sorted, then we’ll be back here, picking up where we left off, in twenty minutes. _Less_ , even.”

 

“If you say so, sweetheart,” Poe sighed doubtfully, as he watched his husband get dressed, then went about gathering his own clothes off the floor, including his ripped shirt. In Poe's experience, Jedi problems were never that easily-solved. But let Finn figure that out on his own, without _Poe_ getting caught in the crossfire. “If you say so.”

 

TBC


	6. The Plan 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt (http://tfa-kink.dreamwidth.org/1082.html?thread=51770#cmt51770): They go on a mission where they have to pretend to be married! Complete with sharing a room with only one bed, having to act affectionate towards each other, and all those wonderful fake marriage tropes.
> 
> Bonus points if they already have secret feelings for each other and it makes everything even more awkward at first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes/Warnings: TRIGGER! MENTIONS OF NON-CON. Vague spoilers for Episode VII.

“What do you suppose this is even about?”

 

Poe hopped about on one leg until he got his left leg in his trousers, pulled them up, and buttoned them. Then he grinned at his fretting husband.

 

“What? You mean that massive Jedi cock-block that just happened?” Poe snorted and picked his shirt up off the floor. It was torn beyond usefulness. “Damnit—can I borrow one of your shirts, sweetheart?”

 

Finn smiled a little and gestured to his small, no doubt organized closet. When Poe reached it and opened the door, everything in the small space appeared to categorized by color, with the exceptions of Finn’s formal uniforms, which were to the right side and safe in see-through plastic bags.

 

 _I married a neat-freak_ , Poe thought in exasperation mixed with amusement, as he noticed the jacket he’d given to Finn all those months ago, hanging next to the fanciest uniform—though not in a clear bag—ready to wear. Poe brushed the sleeve of the jacket fondly—he wondered what Grandpa Card would think of him for giving away what was essentially an heirloom . . . though, in all actuality, it wouldn’t be leaving the family at all, since Finn was now a Dameron. . . .

 

 _Yeah, I married a neat-freak_ , Poe smiled, reaching for a plain grey t-shirt and Cardeno’s jacket. The latter he held out to Finn, who took it with a smile and pulled it on with a look of relief, that Poe, pulling on the grey t-shirt, almost missed.

 

He raised an eyebrow at Finn, who blushed and looked down, smiling a little. “It, um . . . makes me feel safe. Like I’ve got your arms around me,” Finn added with a chuckle. “I mean, I didn’t realize that until just now, but . . . yeah. It’s like a kid’s security blanket, I guess. Only I’m, like, twenty-three.”

 

Smoothing his borrowed t-shirt and smiling, Poe drifted closer to his husband, until Finn sneaked a glance at him. Still smiling, Poe held out his hands, palm up and Finn reached out almost reluctantly, and placed his own hands in Poe’s squarer, rougher ones.

 

“There’s nothing wrong with having a security blanket—especially one as cool as this,” Poe murmured, looking the jacket—and the man in it—over with a heated smirk. Then he raised Finn’s hands to his mouth, kissing his knuckles, before pulling Finn’s arms around his neck by the wrists. Finn, no slouch when it came to displays of affection, public or private, wrapped his arms around Poe's neck and leaned their foreheads together.

 

“I always wear it on missions . . . for luck.”

 

“It’s doing its job, because after every mission, you come home to me. Or, rather, you will be.”

 

“You had it right the first time,” Finn promised, smiling shyly, staring down at his t-shirt where it stretched across Poe’s chest. “When I think of all the reasons I have for getting home in one piece, safe and sound, you’re not just at the top of the list. You _are_ the list. Have been since my first mission.”

 

Poe placed his hands on Finn’s waist, his right hand sliding behind to rest on the small of Finn’s back, pulling him closer . . . against Poe, who leaned in for a kiss and was met halfway by Finn’s soft, timid lips.

 

“You’re still hard,” Poe whispered when they broke the kiss slowly. Finn blushed.

 

“Well, yeah. I don’t know about you, but not even the last of the Jedi is reason enough for a hard-on to go away. Not when it’s inspired by _you_. And anyway,” Finn’s smile turned smug. “You’re not exactly soft, yourself.”

 

“Yeah . . . that’s true. . . .” Poe chuckled. “So, what’re we gonna do about it?”

 

Finn bit his lip. “Um. Think boring thoughts and hope it goes away?”

 

Poe shook his head, still grinning as he maneuvered his husband the exactly nine steps to the bed. “I actually have a better idea,” he said, and Finn’s eyes widened as Poe pushed him backwards, onto the bed.

 

“B-but—Luke Skywalker—” Finn began, scooting up the bed. Poe kneeled on the foot of it, his eyes dark and amused. “He—”

 

“Is a pretty sharp guy and won’t begrudge us a few minutes on our wedding night.” Poe said softly as he straddled Finn’s calves and started unbuttoning his own trousers. He untucked himself then went to work on Finn’s fly, all under Finn’s wide-eyed vulnerability.

 

“But we _can’t_ —” Finn hissed as the cool air and Poe’s warm, dry hand touched his suddenly burning flesh. He lifted his pelvis at Poe’s urging so that his trousers and boxers could be pulled down to mid-thigh. “We ca—”

 

“Yes, we can, sweetheart. Hush,” Poe murmured, pushing up Finn’s dark shirt and kissing his way down his husband’s chest, stomach, and abdomen. All without breaking gazes. “Just . . . let me try a little something. . . .”

 

“Every time you _say that_ , lately, I wind up naked in my bed!”

 

“Funny how that works, isn’t it?” Poe smirked, licking his lips. “Are you complaining?”

 

“No, just—” Finn heaved a loud, heavy sigh and finally closed his eyes as Poe kissed the tip of his cock, lapping at the wetness gathered there, then tonguing the slit while stroking hard and fast with his right hand. His left hand rested on Finn’s knee. “By the Maker, Poe, _please don’t stop_.”

 

“I promise I won’t,” Poe interrupted his ministrations to say, his hand leaving Finn’s knee to settle over Finn’s heart. The beat was strong and regular . . . soothing. “Not ‘til you tell me to, sweetheart. I don’t care how many Jedi are waiting to see us, for whatever reason.”

 

Finn opened eyes that were solemn, yet wide with wonder. “What if it’s bad news?”

 

Poe shrugged. “Then we’ll face it together. As usual. And we have plenty of back-up in the form of everyone who just watched us get married.” He smiled and kissed Finn’s knee, noting that unlike most of the knees he’d ever seen or kissed Finn’s knee was perfect and unmarred. Uns _carred_. As if he’d spent his childhood indoors and never playing and—

 

For a few moments, Poe was so angry at this sudden revelation about Stormtrooper’s childhoods—rather, Finn’s childhood in specific. He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the inside of Finn’s knee.

 

“I’m always gonna be here for you, sweetheart. No matter what. And I’ll teach you all the things the First Order stole from your childhood,” Poe whispered, nuzzling Finn’s skin as tears rolled down his face. “I’ll teach you to climb trees and go snowboarding and how to ride a hoverboard. . . .”

 

“ _Hoverboards_? What _are_ you mumbling about, Poe?” Finn asked, smiling down the length of his body at Poe, who was still so angry and upset about Finn’s deprived childhood, that it sat in his throat like a frog made of tears and screams. “You know that hoverboards are really not, right? That they have wheels that allow them to roll on the ground. And I heard that sometimes, they have this nasty habit of bursting into flame while they rechar—”

 

“Well. Maybe not hoverboards, then,” Poe sighed, crawling up the bed to lean over Finn, who gazed up at him with trusting, anticipatory eyes. Poe smiled. “How about pod-racing? Ever done that?”

 

Finn rolled his eyes. “Of course not. Who has the time?”

 

Poe leaned closer, until his nose brushed Finn’s. “Well, we’ll just have to make time during our honeymoon to introduce you to some of the things you missed out on.”

 

“Missed? I wouldn’t say I _missed_ pod-racing, Poe.”

 

“Well, you’ll never know till you fly.”

 

Rolling his eyes again and reaching up to brush Poe’s curly hair back off his brow, Finn sighed. “I have no aptitude for piloting—anything. Back when I was a Stormtrooper, I consistently got the lowest marks possible for flight training.”

 

“That’s only ‘cause the First Order can’t train anyone for shit, and it shows. Most Stormtroopers couldn’t hit water if they fell out of a boat, but you . . . you’re an _amazing_ shot. I hear people talking about you becoming the deputy arms-master by the time you turn twenty-five. And the Shooter’s College wants you to teach an advanced arms class because you not only walk the talk, but you’re good at teaching others how to do the same.”

 

“And that’s all _you_ , sweetheart. It’s greatness in spite of shitty training. So I’ll bet with the right flyboy training you, you could fly rings around the competition.” Poe grinned and leaned in for a brief kiss that turned into a _not-so-brief_ kiss. He laid himself down between Finn’s legs and proceeded to grind against Finn’s warm, hard-in-all-the-right-places body. “I’ll bet there’s nothing you _can’t_ do, babe.”

 

“Hmm . . . tell me more about this flyboy who’d be training me.” Finn murmured on Poe’s lips. “Is he cute?”

 

Poe snorted. “More like . . . devastatingly handsome.”

 

“I see. And does he have a great sense of humor? Is he kind and smart and daring?”

 

“Are you kidding me?” Poe stole another kiss. “He’s the jackpot for all that stuff . . . the funny and the daring and—those other things you said.”

 

“Then how could I ever focus on my studies when I’d be too busy focusing on this teacher of mine?” Finn asked playfully. Poe’s eyebrows lifted.

 

“Well, I’ll just have to be there with you, reminding you and that scandalous flyboy, that you’re a happily married man who’s only there on Resistance business.” Poe caught Finn’s left hand and pulled it to his face. The platinum ring and the engagement ring shone mellowly in the dim room. Poe smiled and kissed the rings, then Finn’s palm. “Either that, or _I’ll_ have to teach you how to fly, myself.”

 

“Now _that_ I can get on board with.” Finn wrapped his arms around Poe and they kissed for long minutes, laughing and grinding against each other feverishly. Until those laughs became hoarse chuckles and Finn’s thighs gripped Poe’s hips. Finn moaned and hissed, biting his lower lip as Poe nuzzled his neck and kissed his way down Finn’s throat, leaving behind a trail of livid hickeys.

 

Finn’s body was quivering and shaking, as if he was on the cusp of coming, but couldn’t. He kept breathing Poe’s name desperately, clutching at Poe’s shoulder and nape.

 

“Please,” he interspersed desperately with Poe’s name. “ _Please_ , Poe. . . .”

 

“Tell me what you want, sweetheart, please . . . let me give it to you. . . .” Poe plead, sitting up just enough to look into Finn’s eyes. When they opened, dark, heated, and barely cognizant of anything, including who and where he was, Poe cupped Finn’s cheek in his hand and kissed his lips gently, tenderly, feather-light. “What do you want?”

 

“I want—oh, _fuck_ —I don’t want this to ever end,” Finn breathed, his eyes shining with tears. “I want you to fuck me. Then make love to me—then _fuck me_ , again. I want. . . .” Finn threw his head back into the pillow and groaned, his arms tightening around Poe’s neck, his thighs tightening around Poe’s hips. “I want t-too _come_.”

 

“Then _come_ , sweetheart.” Poe leaned in to whisper in Finn’s ear, licking the lobe before catching it between his teeth. “Not because of what you _want_ me to do to you. Not because of what I _am_ doing to you. But because _I’m telling you to_. Do you hear me? You’re _mine_ , now, body and soul, and you come when _I_ tell you to.”

 

Finn made a choked sound high in his throat. “Poe—”

 

“Finn . . . come for me. _Right now_ , sweetheart,” Poe murmured, his lips pressed to the shell of Finn’s ear and his free hand pushing Finn’s leg up and out. And Finn was still slick from before, still stretched, Poe discovered as he pressed his first two fingers against the tight first muscle, then pushed them in, past the token resistance. From there, it was just a matter of seconds to find that one spot that would make Finn scream like a banshee. Poe didn’t even need to ask if he had, for Finn gasped and shuddered hard in his arms. Kissing Finn’s cheek, Poe continued to brush and press that spot mercilessly. “I said: _come, now_.”

 

“I—I—oh, _Poe_!” he gasped, eyes squeezed shut, but tears leaked out anyway. His body froze suddenly, his face locked in an almost pained expression. “I . . . I _can’t_ —”

 

“Yes, you can, Finn.” Poe kissed his cheek again, unsure of what else he could say. But his mouth had, it seemed, run away with his brain. “You’re safe, I got you, and there’s not a damn thing wrong with letting yourself feel like this and enjoying this. Hear me? Not a _damn_. Thing. Wro—”

 

Before Poe could finish speaking, Finn’s arms tightened around his neck and the younger man had thrown his head back again. This time, instead of an almost frightened sound of submission— _not_ necessarily the good kind, and Poe could most _certainly_ tell the difference—to an empowered near-roar.

 

Then Poe wasn’t noticing much else, aside from the warm splatters of Finn’s come on his chest and stomach, and a murmured: “Oh, _fuck_!” as he, himself froze, shuddered, and let go with a long, wavering cry.

 

Then all was a soft, white radiance that faded into gentle, velvet darkness.

 

#

 

When Poe drifted back down to his body, it was to realize that he’d collapsed on top of Finn—his _husband_ , and boy-howdy! was that still mind-boggling—in the exact same position they’d both been in when they came.

 

 _That’s great post-coitus etiquette, Dameron_ , he told himself, never minding the fact that he’d never come so hard he’d . . . passed out? Blacked out? . . . before in his entire sexual career. _Nothing says ‘_ thanks for the amazing sex, buddy _,’ like collapsing into a dead-heavy heap on your partner_.

 

Yawning and groaning, Poe lifted his face from the pillow, braced himself on his hands, and tried to roll off of Finn—who was breathing so evenly, he had to be asleep. Or so Poe thought until the arms around his neck tightened and Finn’s head turned to his own.

 

“Stay.”

 

“I gotta be killin’ ya, sweetheart. I’m not exactly made of faery-dust,” Poe said, but settled back into his previous position—this time with his head turned to Finn’s neck. He inhaled deeply, getting that clean, musky scent in his lungs—in his very being. “You just tell me when I get too heavy, and I’ll get off of you.”

 

“You’ll never be too heavy, Poe,” Finn said, his voice hoarse and strange, as if. . . .

 

Poe sat up a little, despite Finn’s half-hearted protests. He frowned when Finn immediately turned his face away, quickly swiping at his wet cheeks.

 

“Are you . . . are you crying, babe?” Finn flinched away when Poe tried to brush at his tears. But only once . . . though he wouldn’t look at Poe, who braced himself on his arm and rolled onto his side, his other arm draped over Finn’s waist. He scooted closer until he was spooning Finn, who reluctantly, but eventually turned on his side facing away from Poe. “What’s wrong?”

 

“Nothing’s wrong. Why would anything be wrong?” Finn asked almost angrily. “I just—sorta—lost my virginity and it was better than all the stuff I’ve heard. Better than I imagined. The _best_. _Perfection_. Where in that description does it leave any room for tears? Nowhere _I_ can see.”

 

Poe kissed Finn’s nape then nuzzled it. “Sometimes, tears are _good_ tears, you know?” Sighing, Poe felt for Finn’s hand and linked their fingers together. “The happy kind, where you’re so relieved and happy, that all the anxiety that built up in you has to come out, and bam! Tears.”

 

Finn squeezed Poe’s hand. “I wish it was that, Poe, but it’s not.”

 

“Then _tell me_ what it is. I’m not gonna run away screaming or judge you or hate you.”

 

“It’s . . . stupid.” Finn sniffled.

 

“See, that’s how I _know_ you need to get this out of your system. It’s only when the problem needs to be talked about that it becomes stupid or dumb or irrational.” Poe kissed Finn’s shoulder and squeezed him close. “You can tell me all the stupid, dumb, irrational stuff that’s floating around in your head or your heart. I’ll always listen and commiserate. It’s the least I can do after you made _me_ come just by watching _you_ come. Maker save me, I think I shot grey matter and a little of my soul!”

 

Finn laughed and rolled a little toward Poe. “You’re ridiculous.”

 

“But sexy as Hell.”

 

“And so modest, too.”

 

“Modest to a fault, I’m afraid.” Poe sighed melodramatically. Finn smiled for a few moments then grumbled.

 

“We really should be getting dressed again and finding out what Luke Skywalker and Rey want with us.” Finn sighed, but made no move to get up.

 

“They’re Jedi. Patience is one of their virtues.” Poe dismissed. “I’m not ready to give up this lovely afterglow with the man I adore, just yet.”

 

Now Finn turned so that he was on his back, his head turned to Poe. His eyes were indeed red, as if he’d been crying. But Poe knew better than to mention that. Instead, he reached up and caressed Finn’s cheek.

 

Finn sighed again and closed his eyes for a few moments before opening them again. His gaze locked on Poe’s.

 

“It really is silly,” he said ruefully. Poe quirked his lips in a fond half-smile.

 

“Well, whaddaya know? I happen to like a little silliness after I’ve had an out-of-body-experience while coming.”

 

Finn’s eyelids lowered to half mast, before he started speaking.

 

“It’s just that . . . since I was ten years old . . . I’ve been on these . . . suppressants.” Finn paused and searched Poe’s eyes. “And it wasn’t just me. It was almost all the male Stormtroopers and some of the female Stormtroopers. It’s just an implant that goes in your arm . . . _here_.” He gestured at his upper right shoulder then shrugged. “We get a new one, every year. I’ve had twelve.”

 

Poe leaned over and kissed the spot on Finn’s right shoulder. “What . . . what did the implant suppress?” he asked, though he thought he might have a pretty spot-on idea of what it suppressed.

 

Finn let out a soft breath and wouldn’t meet Poe’s gaze. “I . . . it . . . it was supposed to suppress sexual urges. And it did. Quite effectively. At least for most of us. It was, I’m certain, cheaper than having a re-education plan for every Stormtrooper once they hit puberty.”

 

“Sweetheart, that’s . . . horrible,” Poe said softly, brushing his fingers across the spot Finn had indicated. “Suppression of one of the most basic needs most humanoids have is . . . morally bankrupt. Not to mention _dangerous_.”

 

Finn snorted. “You don’t know the half of it, Poe. The implant suppressed the desire for . . . sexual intimacy in most of us. Myself included. But there were a relative few that it didn’t work on, or who it stopped working on. Sometimes those few were caught before they did something . . . regrettable. But other times . . . they weren’t.” Taking a deep breath, Finn finally met Poe’s gaze again. “When I was seventeen, the leader of my dormitory, Slip—uh, FN-2003 told me that his suppressant implant hadn’t suppressed his sexual inclinations since he was my age. When he told me this, he was twenty-one. That was four years he hadn’t been medicated properly. Four years the suppressant built up in his system causing emotional and mental instability. When he told me . . . I didn’t know what to do. He was sort of like a big brother to me. He’d always taken time to make sure I was keeping up with my studies and passing all my exams.” Finn smiled fondly. “He was the one who taught me how to shoot. If you think _I’m_ any good, you should’ve seen Slip with a blaster . . . I don’t think he _ever_ missed a shot.

 

“Anyway, Slip told me his secret and made me promise not to tell anyone else. And I didn’t. For months, until. . . .”

 

“Until?” Poe asked quietly, scanning Finn’s face. Nothing to read there but remembrance, misery, and . . . guilt.

 

Finn bit his lip hard, then went on: “See, I was one of a type the implant worked best on. I didn’t so much as masturbate, wasn’t even a little curious about sexual matters. I understood the mechanics of it, and that was all I needed to know. But Slip . . . Slip was curious. _Really_ curious. One night, after everyone was asleep in our dorm, he woke me up out of a sound sleep to take me to an unused supply closet. He was . . . really incoherent and talking too fast. I tried to calm him down, to get out of him what was wrong . . . if he needed help. But then he tried to kiss me, and I wouldn’t let him. Tried to . . . touch me and I fought him off as best I could. But it was a _very_ narrow supply closet and he was bigger than I was, then. He pushed me up against the wall and pinned me and. . . .” Finn shook his head. “I don’t remember what happened after that. It’s like someone edited out this whole patch of memory. I remember my face hitting the wall, and Slip’s body pressed against my back. He was saying something about the natural order of things and how the First Order was warping all that was natural and good. And he said he was sorry and that he loved me, and that he’d never hurt me, but that he had to _show_ _me_ that he wasn’t crazy, that the _First Order_ was crazy . . . and that’s where that memory ends, and the next memory, waking up in the infirmary to a Captain Phasma interrogation, began.”

 

Finn pinched the bridge of his nose as if to stave off a headache. “Phasma had Slip moved to another dormitory and work-group after his re-education was finished. But she still kept a close eye on _me_ , like _I_ was the one who’d completely flipped.”

 

Poe closed his mouth, having been unaware it’d been hanging open in the first place. “Maker’s beard, did he—do you even _know_ if he. . . ?”

 

Finn shrugged. “Not a clue. That memory’s been burned out and cauterized. When I woke up in the infirmary, it was days later. Slip was already in re-education and all my injuries had been healed, whatever they were. I was as good as new.” Another shrug. “Though I kind of think that if Slip _had_ . . . raped me, the First Order would’ve left that charming memory as a cautionary tale against the unevolved beast of sexuality.”

 

Poe shook his head. “Maker save us all from the First Order’s idea of order.” He sighed and pulled Finn into his arms. The younger man went easily, tucking his head under Poe’s chin. “I’m so sorry that whole experience happened to you. But it wasn’t your fault. You were only trying to help him and he . . . clearly needed more help than anyone there was willing to give. But I’m so sorry this happened to you.”

 

“It was a long time ago, and I literally can’t remember it. I’m actually kind of glad I can’t. Anyway, I didn’t even mean to go off on _that_ tangent.” Finn laughed a little. “It just came bubbling out of me. I don’t know why. I rarely think about it. And when I do, I’m more baffled than scarred for life.

 

“What I _really_ wanted to tell you was— _my_ implant stopped working.” Finn’s smile was game, though his eyes were somewhat haunted.  “Rather, it was destroyed while still in my body. When I fought Kylo Ren, the crossguard of his lightsaber got my shoulder and incinerated it down to the bone. That included flesh and implant. The base doctors removed it when I was brought back here. They told me there was no salvaging it, and that I was, frankly, better off without that kind of implant. That they were, in fact, highly illegal in the Republic. Because of the known side effects. Some of which were uncontrollable rage and skewed thinking, as well as a _physical_ backlash that could turn those using it into sexual predators or just violent berserkers. All of which is what I think happened to Slip.”

 

Poe, gazing up at the ceiling with his arms around Finn, couldn’t think of anything to say to that. Oh, sure, it’d be easy to think of the drugged soldier as the villain of this piece, but clearly _Finn_ didn’t think of him that way. . . .

 

“Anyway, over the past six months, I’ve been riding a roller coaster of weird feelings. Dr. Loejian says it’s like a delayed puberty. That everything I’m feeling is perfectly natural, if ten years later than I should be feeling it." Finn glanced up at Poe, who looked down from the low, grey ceiling to meet Finn’s dark, anxious eyes. “He told me what to expect, what I’d be feeling, how my emotions might be changing, as well as my physical responses to external stimuli. What he didn’t tell me was that it’d be so . . . scary.”

 

Poe frowned. “Scary? _Puberty_?” He couldn’t think of a less scary  part of growing up. For Poe, puberty had been, aside from a few missteps, pretty amazing.

 

 _But then,_ I _didn’t get put on suppressants with side effects like violent and/or sexual aggression, or get_ maybe-raped _by my big brother then have that memory erased. I didn’t get told puberty was a bad thing since before I even knew what puberty_ was _. I didn’t grow up at the_ heart _of the First Order_. . . .

 

“Well, yeah. All these weird urges and feelings and _needs_ . . . waking up out of a dead sleep with a hard-on, but being afraid to do anything about it but wish it away—wanting desperately to be touched and fearing the very same thing. That’s what my life has been like since a month after I woke up.” Finn sighed again and laid his head on Poe’s chest. “I couldn’t even break conditioning enough to touch _myself_.”

 

“Wait—did you say you’ve never— _never touched yourself_?” Poe demanded, certain he’d heard wrong.

 

Finn blushed so hard, Poe could feel the heat of it on his chest. “I’ve tried, but then I get anxious and scared and I just can’t . . . _do that_. Even when I dream about—you know, _sex_ , I always wake up before it goes _too far_. Before I . . . you know. _Come_.”

 

“So. . . .” Poe blinked up at the ceiling again. “What happened just now—when you came . . . that was the first time you’d ever. . . ?”

 

“Yeah.” Finn ran his hand up Poe’s hairy chest. “You’re my first . . . _everything_. And it wasn’t painful or scary or humiliating. Not at all like Phasma said it would be.” Laughing self-deprecatingly, Finn sat up and gazed back at Poe, before smiling just a little. “Thank you.”

 

“The pleasure was at least half mine . . . the other half was hopefully yours.” Poe sat up, too, taking Finn’s hand and kissing it. Then, after searching Finn’s eyes, Poe leaned in and kissed him tenderly. Finn kissed back hungrily, wrapping his arms around Poe’s neck . . . Poe, who now understood a lot more about Finn than he had before.

 

 _I’ll never let_ anything _like that happen to you again, Finn Dameron. As long as I live, you’ll be safe, protected, and loved. Even if it takes me the rest of our lives together to show you how wonderful it can be to let yourself go . . . and with someone you trust, I_ will _show you. I’ll teach you how wonderful love and sex can be with the right person._

 

“Poe?”

 

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

 

“What’s it gonna be like?”

 

“What?”

 

Finn leaned back to gaze into Poe’s eyes timidly, but bravely. “When we . . . you know. When you’re inside me. What will that be like?”

 

“Oh, that,” Poe chuckled, decisively putting the past behind them . . . for the moment. Though he sensed there would come a time when Finn’s past came back to haunt them both. “I think it’ll be . . . magical.”

 

“You really think so?”

 

“It’s _you_ and _me_ , Finn . . . I _know_ so.”

 

Finn’s smile was so radiant, it lit the dim room. Then Poe was tasting that bright smile, holding Finn tight and close, both of them giggling like teenagers.

 

#

 

Ten minutes later, hand in hand, the newlyweds stepped into the corridor to find Rey leaning against the opposite wall, apparently napping. But as soon as the door closed behind them, she was straightening up, eyes wide open. Next to her was her staff and an unusually silent BB-8.

 

“Where’s, uh, your master?” Finn asked warily, looking down the hall in either direction and spotting no one. Rey grinned.

 

“We thought you might be a while, so Master Luke’s gone back to General Organa’s office to . . . catch-up.”

 

“Leaving you to play the lonely sentinel?” Poe asked, one eyebrow raised.

 

“Well, I had BB-8 to keep me company.” Rey yawned, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. “Anyway, sorry about walking in on you two, before.”

 

Poe snorted, but Finn elbowed him. “It was an accident. There’s nothing to forgive. I should’ve locked the door. In fact, I usually do.”

 

“Clearly you were . . . distracted. Well, either way, Master Luke and I extend our apologies,” Rey took up her staff. “Now, if you two gentlemen will follow me to General Organa’s office.”

 

Finn and Poe shared a worried look. “First, can you tell us what this’s all about?” Poe asked, sotto-voiced.

 

“’Fraid not. Not my place,” Rey said apologetically. At her heels, BB-8 beeped and blorped. Rey laughed. “Yes, quite. It’s _classified_ information. Need-to-know, only. But if you follow me to the General’s office, all will be made clear shortly.”

 

Finn and Poe shared another worried look . . . but followed an already walking Rey to the general’s office, still hand in hand.

 

“What if  it’s another mission?” Finn sighed grumpily. “On that runs through our . . . honeymoon.”

 

Poe swore. “It’d better not be. We were promised that time by the general, herself!”

 

“Don’t worry, we’ll get that business on Yavin 4 straightened out.”

 

“That’s not what I’m worried about, sweetheart.”

 

Confused, Finn glanced at a glowering Poe. The other man slid his arm around Finn’s waist.

 

“I made a promise to myself—and to the universe—that our honeymoon would be spectacular. That I’d show you all the fun places and all the fun . . . er, _stuff_.” Poe waggled his eyebrows till Finn got the hint and blushed. “That’s a promise I intend to keep, if nothing else.”

 

Finn laid his head on Poe’s shoulder for a few seconds. “It’ll be spectacular as long as I’m spending it with you.”

 

[Beep-boop-wahh!]

 

“And you, too, BB-8.”

 

[Boop-dat.]

 

Poe grinned. “Your binary’s getting pretty good, sweetheart. Soon, I won’t be able to keep any of my secrets and surprises from you for long.”

 

Finn laughed. “Or you’ll have to start sharing them with Chewbacca. I still can’t speak a word of Wookie, for the life of me.”

 

“Really? Good to know. . . .”

 

Finn whapped Poe on the chest and Poe waggled his eyebrows again, his hand sliding down to grip Finn’s ass. Then he leaned in to steal a kiss that didn’t stop until Rey cleared her throat.

 

“Do you mind?” Poe broke the kiss to say irritably, at the same time Finn said: “Sorry. But we _are_ technically on our honeymoon.”

 

Rey, grinning, nodded to a familiar door. “Tell that to General Organa and Master Luke.”

 

Poe rolled his eyes, clearly unconcerned about this little meeting. Finn, however, was extremely nervous. It was a directionless sort of anxiety, but still there. Still looming in the background.

 

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. It’ll be okay,” Poe promised, taking Finn’s hand again. Finn squeezed back.

 

“I hope so. But I’ve got a weird feeling about this. Not bad, per se, but . . . a _feeling_.”

 

“Ugh, I hate those.” Poe mock-shuddered and Finn smiled.

 

“You’re incorrigible.”

 

“And sexy and humble, as well . . . is there no end to my wonders?”

 

“One can only hope,” Rey muttered, and received a glare for her troubles. “Alright, let’s get this show on the road.”

 

And with that, she strode toward the general’s door, which opened as soon as she was within the sensor’s field. General Organa and Luke Skywalker, apparently deep in a discussion, nonetheless stopped speaking as Rey entered the office.

 

Finn and Poe glanced at each other again. Poe smiled and Finn returned it haplessly.

 

Then, hand still in hand, they followed Rey into the general’s office.

 

TBC


	7. The Plan 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt (http://tfa-kink.dreamwidth.org/1082.html?thread=51770#cmt51770): They go on a mission where they have to pretend to be married! Complete with sharing a room with only one bed, having to act affectionate towards each other, and all those wonderful fake marriage tropes.
> 
> Bonus points if they already have secret feelings for each other and it makes everything even more awkward at first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes/Warnings: Vague spoilers for Episode VII. Also, if you can think of any really common tropes that I'm leaving out or forgetting for this piece, please let me know. I've touched on a lot, so far, but there's always room for improvement :-)

When everyone was seated in the now cramped office of General Organa—with chairs brought in from General Windborne’s office by Finn, Poe, and Rey—the general smiled at each person in turn, then leaned back carefully in her chair as her gaze touched upon Luke Skywalker again.

 

“Everyone here already knows each other, except for Finn and Luke,” she said, sounding amused. Finn, however, was _far_ from amused. More like . . . disappointed. He snuck glances at the Jedi knight, trying to find some evidence of the Force in the way he sat, or the paternal smile he bestowed upon Rey and Poe and even BB-8. Or the curious look he sent Finn’s way, after a few seconds.

 

This man was nothing like Kylo Ren. Sanguine, where Kylo Ren had always seemed to seethe below his façade of calm.

 

“Luke, this is Finn Dameron. Finn, this is Luke Skywalker,” General Organa said, her eyes ticking back and forth between her brother and Finn.

 

“I’ve heard so much about you from Rey, Finn. It’s very nice to meet you at last,” Skywalker said, extending his cybernetic hand across Rey and Poe, to Finn. Poe released Finn’s hand and slid that arm around Finn’s shoulders.

 

“It’s, uh, nice to meet you, too, sir.” Finn said, taking the metal and alloy hand as he spoke. And it wasn’t exactly a lie. But it wasn’t the truth, either.

 

Skywalker smiled. “You’re a terrible liar, kid. But I hear you’re an excellent shot.”

 

Finn stiffened, as did Poe, his arm tightening around Finn’s shoulder.

 

“I can hold my own with any blaster of any size, be it a blaster pistol or a blaster shoulder canon,” Finn allowed, nodding once. He could all but hear Poe’s teeth grinding. This was shaping up to be a mission, alright. The only time one of the brass complimented someone’s talent so plainly was when they wanted to send him or her haring off on a dangerous mission from which they might not return.

 

“And you . . . you I remember from many years ago,” Skywalker said when his canny gaze shifted to Poe. He extended the cybernetic hand again. “You were a lot smaller then.”

 

“Yeah, well . . . I was nine,” Poe said snarkily. Finn elbowed him in the side.

 

Skywalker’s smile faded. “Yes, you were. A terrible age to lose one’s mother. But I think that Shara Bey would be glad to see the man you’ve become in spite of the adversity you faced growing up. Actually, I think she’d be more than glad. She’d be _proud_.”

 

Poe tensed even further, as did the arm around Finn. But Poe didn’t seem to notice. Then again, he never noticed that he went as cold as an asteroid whenever _that_ subject was brought up. Even Finn knew, at this late date, to steer clear of subjects that might lead, however innocently, to Poe’s late mother.

 

Skywalker, however, didn’t seem to notice anything amiss, and instead, continued talking. “And she’d be even prouder that you’ve found someone to settle down with, and who makes you happy.”

 

“Thank you,” Poe said without inflection as he released Skywalker’s hand. Then he sat back, glancing at Finn, who shrugged. “If I may be so bold, you didn’t come here just to tell me and my husband that we’ve done good by my dead mother’s standards. Why were you looking for us, before?” Poe glanced at General Organa. “Is this about a mission? Because if it is, you’re shit outta luck since Finn and I are officially on our honeymoon. The only mission I’m looking to finish is the one you and Rey were so nice enough to interrupt, earlier.”

 

“ _Poe_!” Finn, turning red, hissed through gritted teeth, elbowing his husband again. Poe sighed and scowled, turning to Finn and taking his hands. “That’s _not_ how we speak to generals or Jedis!”

 

“Sweetheart—” Poe began in a conciliatory tone, but upon seeing Finn’s expression harden, he heaved another sigh. “Okay, look—maybe I was a little . . . less than deferential with my tone. And my words. Okay, okay, and my body language,” he admitted quietly, though his own expression was just as fierce as Finn’s. “But _somebody_ had to be, or else we’d be sitting here all night making small-talk and dancing around the point of their visit.”

 

Finn rolled his eyes. “Impatience is not a good reason for insubordination, Poe.” Shifting his gaze to Skywalker. “Sorry. It’s been a long day for both of us.”

 

“So I imagine,” Skywalker replied, his eyebrows quirked in amusement. “Insubordination aside, Commander Dameron _does_ have a point. We all know my padawan and I arriving here at this specific time has little do with even such a blessed union of souls as this,” he said, nodding to Finn and Poe. “That the arrival of a Jedi on a Resistance Base— _the_ Resistance Base—is no idle visit.”

 

Poe opened his mouth to say something else snarky, but one glance at Finn’s disapproving scowl and he huffed and sat back in his chair. Finn leaned toward Skywalker, his annoyed expression fading into a look of intense curiosity. “I didn’t think it was . . . but may I ask . . . why are you here? And what does it have to do with my husband and I?”

 

“Well, first off, before we dive into the deep-end, let’s get the matter of a wedding present out of the way, shall we?” Skywalker smiled and reached into his robe with his flesh-hand. He pulled out what looked like . . . a small, green-brown twig with a half-dead leaf on it.

 

He held it out to Finn, whose eyebrows lifted halfway to his hairline . . . but he reached out to take the twig, anyway. “Um . . . thank you, sir.”

 

“You’re quite welcome, Corporal Dameron.” Skywalker smiled his quirky, amused half-smile, and Finn had no doubt Skywalker knew that such a gift was received with no small amount of chagrin and wariness. Especially when he chuckled as Finn’s fingertips closed gently on the twig. There was a small, seemingly prolonged electric shock when his fingers brushed Skywalker’s. And it continued for several seconds after Skywalker withdrew his hand.

 

Finn regarded the twig a bit more closely. It, too, seemed as half-dead as the single leaf it boasted. But it felt _alive_ between the tips of his fingers . . . as vital as anything. Maybe even _more_ vital. It tingled so intensely that he could almost see a twinkly sort of . . . aura around it and his own hand.

 

“Whoa,” he murmured, shaking his head and turning the twig to different angles to see if there was any clue as to what could be _causing_ the tingling sensation in his fingers, which was quickly making its way up his arm. “Is this some sort of Jedi magic? This feels . . . weird.”

 

This time, Skywalker was the one whose eyebrows lifted. “Could you elaborate?”

 

Finn smiled wryly. “Well, it tingles and sparks like something alive, even though it looks like it’s on its last legs. And I can feel the life-force in it all the way up my arm!”

 

At this, Skywalker glanced at Rey, who was grinning. She shrugged. “See? I told you he’d feel it, too, Master.”

 

“Feel _what_?” Poe demanded, moving to take the twig, but Finn held it off to the side and out of reach, still gazing at it wonderingly. “Finn—what’re you talking about?”

 

“It’s humming, Poe. Like it’s trying to sing a song that it’s forgotten the words to, but remembers the melody.” He looked over at his husband curiously. “Can’t _you_ hear it, too, Poe?”

 

“Uh . . . no,” Poe replied, throwing a narrowed glance at Skywalker and Rey. The latter held up her hands peaceably while the former was staring intently at Finn, who’d returned his gaze to the sprig and had started to hum a quiet song under his breath. “Sweetheart—sweetheart, sticks don’t _sing_ to people.”

 

“Well, _this one_ kinda does . . . gimme your hand.” Finn turned to Poe and grabbed his hand before Poe could yank it away, and placed the twig dead-center on Poe’s palm, then closing Poe’s hand around it. “There. Shut up, and listen to the singing stick.”

 

“But—”

 

Finn leaned over to peck Poe’s lips still. “Shut up and _listen_.”

 

Groaning, Poe gazed at the plant clutched in his hand. He waited—skeptically, it was plain to see—to hear . . . something. . . .

 

“Well?” Finn asked excitedly. Poe reluctantly shrugged.

 

“I don’t hear any singing or humming,” he said, but didn’t pass the twig back to Finn. Instead, he held it out to Skywalker, who took it, turning it between his fingers, before disappearing it back into his robe.

 

Frowning, Finn met Skywalker’s gaze. “I can still hear it humming, sir. Faint, but there. But why can’t _Poe_ hear it humming?”

 

Skywalker’s smile was enigmatic. “Perhaps the more pertinent question is why _you can_.”

 

#

 

“Okay . . . so why _can_ _I_ hear the Amazing Singing Twig?” Finn asked, his gaze drifting from Luke’s pleasant, but unreadable face to Rey’s smug one. Then Finn’s eyes widened and he smirked. “It’s a trick, right? Some weird Jedi trick?”

 

Poe nodded, his irritability bubbling up into anger, even as he tried to keep a lid on it. “Probably. Jedi have weird senses of humor. Playing a trick on a newlywed might run to their tastes.”

 

“It’s a trick, alright, but Master Luke and I aren’t the Jedi performing it,” Rey said, glaring at Poe, only for Luke to wave her silent. Then he was leaning toward Finn as if Poe wasn’t even there—the pilot rolled his eyes and shrank back in the chair so as not to get touched even in passing—holding his flesh-hand out to Finn, who snorted.

 

“Didn’t we already shake hands, sir?” he asked, but took Luke’s hand, anyway, grinning . . . then his eyes widened in pure shock as he grasped the other man’s hand—rather, as the other man’s hand grasped his. For Finn was frozen in that wide-eyed, gaping expression, his brow furrowed as if he was trying to concentrate on some difficult problem.

 

Luke, meanwhile, was gripping Finn’s hand gently, but firmly, his face solemn, his eyes keen and almost sad. “And now? Tell me what you’re hearing now?”

 

Finn frowned and shook his head. “I—”

 

“What do you mean _what is he hearing_?” Poe demanded, his gaze darting between his husband and the Jedi. “Am I the only sane person left in this room? What in the name of the Maker’s going on? General Organa?”

 

But the general was watching the interplay between Luke and Finn as if it was some particularly engrossing holo-program. She waved Poe momentarily silent. “Hush, Poe,” she murmured kindly, but it was still every inch a command.

 

Poe looked at Luke’s pale face and equally pale hand, gripping Finn’s dark one. A glance at Finn showed that whatever was going on—a stare-down? Hypnosis? Who-blinks-first?—it wasn’t exactly fun. Finn’s face was covered in a light sheen of sweat, his lower lip held between his teeth, and his face set in that intent scowl.

 

“What do you hear now, Finn?” Luke asked again, more command than question in it. Finn’s scowl deepened and he shuddered, closing his eyes. “Tell me what you hear.”

 

“I don’t—” tears of frustration were leaking out from Finn’s squinched-shut eyes. “I don’t know. It’s a song. A million songs. A _billion_ . . . more . . . and none of them have words, they just . . . hum.”

 

“Can you differentiate between the different songs?” Luke asked in a low, but apparently fascinated voice. “Can you tell which ones are coming from nearby, and which from far away?”

 

“Yeeeees,” Finn replied absently, as if not entirely certain he was telling the truth. “The faraway ones are quieter, and the nearby ones are louder, except. . . .”

 

“Yes?” Luke was really leaning in, now, and close enough that Poe could smell him: old wool, ozone, and the ocean. “Go on, Finn.”

 

Frowning, Finn took a breath. “The songs in this room are different. There are six of them . . . and two of them are so quiet and subdued, I can barely hear them . . . but they’re there. There’s just a controlled quality to them, as if the volume’s been purposely turned down.”

 

Luke _hmmed_ , and nodded “That makes sense. Alright, go on. What about the other songs?”

 

“One is . . . quieter than most, but still pretty loud . . . martial and maternal, soaring like an anthem. Another one is . . . mechanical, but friendly . . . and the fifth one is loud, it’s— _beautiful_ and it kind of drowns out the other songs in the room. And the sixth one . . . I can barely hear at all. It’s like a background accompaniment to the other songs. I’m trying to pin it down . . . but I can’t.”

 

Finn shook his head in obvious frustration, and opened his eyes. They were slightly reddened, as if he’d been crying, or fighting off a bad headache. His free hand went to his temple and his eyes rolled up into his head as if he was about to faint.

 

“Whoa—sweetheart, are you okay?” Poe stood up, purposely breaking the physical connection between Finn and Luke. Then he knelt in front of his husband, taking the hand that Luke had so recently been holding, chaffing it and squeezing it as he looked up into Finn’s disoriented face. “Is everything alright?”

 

“’M fine. Just . . . kinda fuzzy on what’s going on.” Finn groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose before opening his eyes again. They were redder than they’d been even a minute ago. “What . . . what just happened?”

 

Poe’s brow furrowed. “You mean you don’t know?” He glanced over at a serene—but thoughtful-looking—Luke, and a wide-eyed, worried Rey. “Then I’d say it was some kinda Jedi mindfuck.”

 

“Oi!” Rey stood up, hands on her hips. “Jedi don’t _mindfuck_ people!”

 

“And, of course, you’d know this and tons more after six months of study?” Poe snorted and turned back to Finn, who was still pinching the bridge of his nose, his eyes closed again. Worried, Poe cupped Finn’s cheek in his hand. His skin was clammy and damp. “Well, thanks ever-so-much for the input.”

 

“Jedi _don’t_ mindfuck people,” Rey repeated flatly, but with an edge of anger. “Especially not their friends.”

 

“Since when do Jedi have friends? I thought they just had enemies, and people that they’d let down or screwed over,” Poe said bitterly.

 

“Poe . . . I don’t feel so good,” Finn mumbled, opening his dark and reddened eyes. They seemed to plead with Poe. “Feels like a migraine or something.”

 

“Damn—okay, c’mon. Up and at ‘em, sweetheart.” Poe stood and pulled Finn up into his arms. “We’ll get you to the infirmary and fixed up in no time.”

 

“No—I don’t need to go to the infirmary . . . I just . . . need to lay down.” Finn tried to smile, but it was definitely more of a grimace. And he was squinting as if Poe was too bright for his eyes to tolerate. “Once I get some shut-eye, I’ll be good as new.”

 

Poe frowned. “Are you sure, Finn? I know you don’t like the infirmary, but if this’s a migraine, they can get rid of it in a couple minutes. One shot and they’ll send us on our way. And we can spend the rest of the night picking up where we left off, huh?” He waggled his eyebrows and this time, when Finn smiled, it was a real one.

 

“You’ve got a one-track mind.”

 

“When it comes to _you_ , yes, I do. Let’s go, sweetheart.” Poe pulled Finn’s arm around his shoulders and lead him—as best he could, in such a cramped space—to the door. He didn’t get far, however, before Luke stood up with the aid of his staff, facing Poe, though his eyes were on Finn, worried and intense.

 

“Excuse us, Luke,” Poe said respectfully, but his jaw was clenched and his eyes were narrowed in anger. “I need to get my husband to a medic.”

 

Luke searched Poe’s eyes, then sighed and bowed briefly to them both, stepping aside. As Poe went past, Luke’s cybernetic hand pressed something into the hand settled on Finn’s waist. It felt like a book—like a book made of _paper_ , the same as the one’s on the general’s shelf.

 

“For when your husband feels better. He’ll want to read that.” Luke’s blue eyes searched Poe’s eyes again, as if looking for something he didn’t expect to find. Whatever it was, Poe merely stared into Luke’s eyes until the other man sighed and looked away. “I know you don’t trust me, Poe, and I think I even know why, but you _must_ trust me _now_. About _this_.”

 

“Sorry, Luke, but I’m not nine, anymore. I don’t have to trust that you know what you’re doing just because you’re a Jedi.” Poe edged his way past the Jedi knight and his padawan, who only had eyes for Finn. _Worried_ eyes and no hint of Luke’s poker-face. Poe snorted.

 

“C’mon, BB-8,” he called as the door to General Organa’s office opened. Then he led a barely conscious Finn out into the quiet corridor, BB-8 beeping and booping worriedly all the way.

 

#

 

“Well. That went swimmingly.”

 

Master Luke gave General Organa a _look_ and she shrugged, hands held up in placation. Rey, meanwhile was slouched down in her chair, long legs crossed, one hand on her staff, staring off into space, thinking about Finn. . . .

 

“It went about as well as can be expected,” Master Luke sighed, sitting back in his chair with a grateful grunt. Rey shook off her reverie and focused on the matter at hand. Master Luke was _always_ trying to drum into her an appropriate sense of mindfulness. “Considering that he’s a Force-sensitive who’s gone his whole life without any kind of training, only to have his first experience using the Force end with a trip to the infirmary.”

 

General Organa smiled in commiseration. “Well, at least my office is _near_ the infirmary. _There’s_ a silver-lining for you, Luke.”

 

“Optimism in the face of almost certain failure?” Master Luke huffed. “I’m sorry, but who are _you_ , and what’ve you done with Leia Organa?”

 

“Ha!” General Organa leaned back and opened the bottom right drawer of her desk, coming out with a bottle that was mostly full of golden-brown liquid. Luke smiled and shook his head.

 

“My dear sister . . . Corellian brandy stashed in your office?” he tsked, but accepted the tumblerful General Organa then handed him. “What would the other generals say?”

 

The general quirked an eyebrow. “ _Those_ greedy bastards? They’d demand a glassful for themselves, is what.” She hmphed, offering Rey a tumbler. But Rey demurred, standing up.

 

“I’d better make sure Finn and Poe make it to the infirmary okay,” she said, smiling at the general and turning an amused, but somewhat stern eye on her Master. “And _you_ . . . don’t drink _too_ much. I can’t lift you to carry you all the way back to the guest quarters.”

 

“Yes, Master Rey.” Master Luke knocked back half the tumblerful, then cast a slightly watery glance Rey’s way. “And _you_ . . . try not to fight with Poe. He’s your best friend’s spouse. You two are on the same side . . . remember?”

 

“It wasn’t a fight,” Rey said huffily, crossing her arms. “And anyway, Poe started it!”

 

“Well, don’t _you_ go finishing it,” General Organa said, eyeing Rey’s lightsaber pointedly. Rey quickly whipped her robe about herself, concealing the weapon. Then she snatched up her staff and, with a bow for her Master and the general, swanned out of the office, her head held high.

 

She was a quarter of the way to the infirmary, when she heard the cries for help, broken and hoarse.

 

Staff at the ready—despite having made the damned lightsaber herself, with Master Luke’s guidance, Rey still reached more readily for her trusty staff, than for her lightsaber—she ran down the warren-like corridors, toward the cries.

 

She passed no one as she ran down halls—the wedding reception was running late, indeed—and took turns at full speed. It wasn’t until she was two-thirds of the way to infirmary that she was stopped in her tracks.

 

In the center of an intersection, lay Finn, twitching and spazzing—having a seizure of some sort. His entire body was a tight, stiff rictus, his head flung back into Poe Dameron’s lap. The pilot was murmuring something to Finn, tears dripping from his cheeks to land on Finn’s face.

 

“C’mon, baby, you can beat this, you can do it,” Poe whispered stroking Finn’s face. Finn’s body was shaking and twitching so badly, he seemed to be trying to pitch himself out of his husband’s lap.

 

Rey’s hand went up to cover her mouth, and Poe’s eyes flicked to her, round and shining with tears . . . and relief.

 

“Rey—” he sighed, wiping his face on his arm. “Maker save us, you’ve _gotta_ get to the infirmary and have them send a stretcher!”

 

“What—what happened to him?” she asked taking a step closer to the pair. Poe’s relief quickly turned to irritability.

 

“We were on our way to the infirmary when Finn dropped like a hot rock and started having a seizure.” Poe shook his head and spread his hands, all that pugnacious fight gone out of him. “That’s all I know. Could you please— _please_ —get a doctor or nurse or someone to help him? I sent BB-8 to the infirmary, but he hasn’t come back, yet. I don’t know what’s taking so long, but—Finn needs _help_. _Please_.”

 

“Of course,” Rey said, taking a step toward the infirmary before glancing back the way she’d come. “Wait—maybe Master Luke could—”

 

“No—no Jedi tricks, just . . . get him a doctor, Rey,” Poe pleaded, leaning down to kiss Finn’s forehead. “Please, hurry.”

 

Nodding in deference to his wish, Rey took off for the infirmary.

 

For some reason, as she ran she remembered the day she met Finn and how he’d grabbed her hand and run, tugging her along into his adventure—though she’d hardly needed the encouragement to run from the First Order. Even scavengers knew the latest attempt at an Empire was a bad deal. And if anyone had wanted proof of the First Order’s perfidy, the bastards had started bombing the area, with obvious disregard for all the innocent lives they were taking. All for one droid. For one _man_.

 

In the end, they’d caught neither.                          

 

But so much of her time with Finn had been spent running from _something_ or other that wanted them dead—Unkar Plutt, the First Order, rathtars—that it felt as if they’d been on the run together for a lifetime, let alone a day. And somehow, in spite of that—or maybe _because_ of that—they’d become fast friends. For there was a bond between them, strong and tensile, that even time and distance had done little or nothing to erode.

 

And even now, living a life she’d never expected when she’d been scavenging on Jakku, having seen so much of the galaxy travelling with Master Luke, she still had yet to meet anyone as brave and principled as Finn. Someone she could trust more or rely upon more.

 

He was, simply put, her best friend. The only one she’d ever had, until recently. But even if she’d had a thousand, there’d only be one Finn.

 

And even though she now had to share him with Poe Dameron, Rey knew that no one could ever take _Finn’s_ place in her heart. And she wouldn’t want them to. . . .

 

Seconds later—or so it seemed—Rey arrived at the final turn-off for the infirmary, and was nearly run over by BB-8, beeping and whistling and leading two medics, one of whom had an anti-grav stretcher, the other of whom carried a large case white case with what Rey hoped were medical supplies.

 

She flattened herself against the wall as the trio went past. Then she was following after—at least as far as the intersection where Finn had fallen. After she saw her best friend safe in the hands of the medics, it was back to General Organa’s office to tell Master Luke what had happened.

 

But she had a feeling he’d already know _exactly_ what was wrong with Finn.

 

 _Jedi mindfuck_ , a voice whispered in the back of her mind. It sounded a lot like Poe Dameron.

 

#

 

_It was midmorning, and aggressively sunny._

_He didn’t know how long he’d been walking down the dusty road that skirted the forest, but he knew it’d been a while. Since the day was young, and the pale, blue-grey of the sky had borne only the promise of dawn._

_He reached a sharp turn in the road and stopped, taking off his jacket and peering down the turn as far as he could, which wasn’t very. But the way directly ahead of him, west, lead to hilly pastures._

_It was where the path deviated from the lay of the land that his first real decision came to be made: he could either follow the curve of the road around the forest, or strike off on his own, across country, following the roll of the green hills._

_Something in his gut told him he’d be better off in the hills than continuing down the path. For while he didn’t sense anything overtly dangerous about it, he felt that he’d followed the path as far as was necessary._

_So, slinging his jacket over his shoulder, he took his first steps off the path that lay before him._

 

_By early afternoon, the hills had become more gently rolling, and there were signs of cultivation. A rock wall that separated nothing more than land from land, itself as high as a man, but crumbling and falling over. He thought about climbing it, but in the end, let his course take him southward to a place where the wall had completely crumbled. He stepped carefully over the stony rubble, noting how smooth the rocks were—he even pocketed a large, milky quartzite pebble, just in case—and continued on his way west._

_The next sign he saw of habitation was a waist-high fence made of some metallic alloy. Finn smiled and hopped the fence easily, and kept walking west, more certain than ever he was on the right track._

_And sure enough, when he crested a slight slope, he found himself overlooking a shallow valley, in the western distance of which sat a large, rambling farmhouse. He could even see figures moving around the property—two of them, anyway._

That’s it, _he thought_. That’s where I have to be.

_His whole body seemed to be in agreement, as he’d already started down the other side of the slope without his brain’s say-so._

_#_

_It was nearing late afternoon, when he reached the front yard of the house, which was now empty of people, though there was a good-sized garden with tubers, spices, and fruit growing in relatively neat rows. Running through the garden, around the house, and up to the front porch of the house was a narrow, stone path._

_He followed the path up to the front porch, thence the front door, which was heavy-looking and sported a plain brass knocker—_ at the very least, _he thought,_ I can get a glass of water and some directions _—but before he even reached for the knocker, a child’s bright, happy screams of laughter sounded from around the side of the house._

_He instantly abandoned the front door and sought out the source of the laughter. He didn’t seek for long. He followed the stone path around to the back of the house and saw a man with curly salt and pepper hair, chasing around—with a garden hose—a small, wiry boy with a wet corona of sable curls surrounding his square, somehow familiar face. He appeared to be about six or seven and very limber, turning cartwheels and doing showy tumbles to escape the spritzing. Both the child and the man were completely sodden._

_Smiling, he watched them play for a few minutes, debating whether or not to disturb their fun for directions and a glass of water._

_Finally, backing around the side of the house, out of sight, he was ready to sit on the front steps and wait till the sounds of horsing around had stopped. So he did. He took off his jacket and placed it next to him, then settled in for the long-haul. What he didn’t count on is the warm, perfect summer day closing his eyes for him and conspiring with his tired, finally relaxed muscles to make him drift right off . . . the surprising comfort of the wide step on which he was sitting and against the step on which he was leaning. . . ._

_“That’s a cool jacket, mister! Where’d you get it?”_

_Starting awake, he bolted up out of his slouch and opened gritty eyes. Staring at him from a patch of golden sunlight, was the boy from the back of the house. He was still dressed in his damp clothes, his curly dark hair was somewhat plastered to his head, and his wide, wide-set hazel eyes were alight with curiosity._

_“I—I—what?”_

_“Are you a pilot, like my dad?” the boy asks eagerly, pointing at the jacket on the porch steps. “I bet you are, with a jacket like_ that _.”_

_Shaking his head, he looked around and stood up, stretching out the kinks—which were myriad after a day spent walking cross-country, then catching a power-nap on a porch (no matter how comfortable). “I’m, uh . . .not a pilot. I’m a, um sharpshooter,” he said before he could think of anything else to say. But it didn’t_ feel _like a lie, so he shrugged and smiled at the boy._

_“Wow!” The boy whooped and pointed his finger like a blaster pistol at the nearest non-living target: a rain-barrel. “Pew-pew-pew! Take that, Stormtrooper scum!”_

_Snorting, the man stood up as the boy fired at Stormtroopers only he could see. “Right. Get those Stormtroopers. Uh, could I trouble you or perhaps your father for a glass of water and directions to—to—” he trailed off, frowning._

_Where exactly had he been planning to go when he hadn’t even known where he was?_

_“What planet is this?” he asked the attentive boy, who looked at him as if he’d gone crazy._

_“Yavin 4, mister . . . did you hit your head?”_

_“Not recently, I don’t think,” he replied slowly, uncertainly. “I just don’t remember how I got here, is all. Or why.” O_ r who I am, or my name. . . .

_The boy frowned up at him for a few moments, then smiled, darting down to pick up the almost forgotten jacket. He shook it out, raising a fine cloud of dust. “My dad’ll know how to help you. He can solve any problems. HEY, DAAAAAD? THERE’S A SHARPSHOOTER HERE TO SEE YOU!!!!”_

_He flinched at the boy’s yelling, and watched as the boy swung the too large, no doubt sweat-damp brown jacket around himself draping it over his wide, bony shoulders. Then he grinned._

_“C’mon! Dad’s probably in the kitchen—maybe you can stay and have dinner with us! And I can show you my room—it’s really awesome! C’mon!” The boy took his hand and grinned up at him with a very familiar, but largely toothless grin. One that nonetheless tugged at his heart strings._

_Then he was being dragged back around the other side of the house by the boy, who was talking a mile a minute. But he led them both into the house by a side door. “DAAAAD!”_

_“Just a moment, buddy! And remember: use your indoors-voice!” a . . . familiar voice called from deeper in the house._

_“OKAY! BUT THERE’S A GUY HERE TO SEE YOU!” the boy called with no appreciable change in volume. He glanced up at his guest and grinned. “My dad can do anything. You know, he used to work with the Resistance during the war! He even flew a TIE-fighter once! But then he crashed it on Jakku because the First Order shot him and Finn down.”_

_Eyeing a bowl of apples set on the counter near the sink, he paused in the midst of reaching for one, and turned to the boy, who’d climbed onto one of the wooden stools surrounding the center island._

_“Finn?” he asked of the boy, who nodded, biting his lip in a way that was very familiar indeed, as he leaned across the counter, reaching for a cookie from a bowl of the same. His little arm had just enough reach to get him to the bowl, which he then pulled closer to him with a successful whoop._

_“Uh-huh. He and my dad flew missions together for the Resistance_ and _killed Stormtroopers_ and _blew up Starkiller Base_ and _almost won the war!” the boy said around a mouthful of oatmeal cookie. “My dad named me after Finn because he said I remind him of Finn and because I’m a real good shot. Wanna see me do target practice after dinner?”_

_Now eyeing the boy—who was bouncing on the stool in his excitement—he smiled. “Maybe . . . I mean, it’s not like I’ve got anywhere else to go. That I can remember, that is.”_

_The boy whooped again and, with a quick grab for a third cookie, hopped off the stool and took his guest’s hand, leading him across the kitchen, avoiding creaky wooden floorboards for the more sound ones, like a pro. “C’mon, dad’s probably elbows-deep in fixing the water heater. Again.”_

_This was said with a fond exasperation that spoke volumes for the boy’s father’s stick-to-it-iveness, if not his ultimate handiness._

_Once again, he let himself be dragged along in the boy’s wake, while holding the sticky, small hand in his own._

_He was led down a dim, narrow hallway, past a dining room, and a library that appeared to be wall-to-wall books—actual books—as well as a living room with mismatching furniture. At the end of the hall was a room that even from a distance appeared to be filled mechanical junk._

_Standing in the midst of the piles of broken things was, to all appearances, the same man who’d been chasing the boy, Finn, around with the garden hose earlier. He wore the same white t-shirt, with more than a few tears in and smudges on it, as well as tough work trousers and boots. He stood with arms akimbo, his back to the door, staring down at the piles of junk as if staring at them would make them work._

_For a few moments, boy and man stood watching the former’s father, until he sighed, his broad shoulders sagging as he shook his head._

_“Stupid piece of crap,” he muttered, kicking a small activator switch—though not hard. “Goddamned worthless fucking—”_

_The boy, Finn, knocked on the door post and spoke in an exaggerated whisper. “Dad? We have company?”_

_The boy’s father made a noncommittal sound, but continued to stare at his messy workroom intently. At least until his guest cleared his throat politely._

_“Excuse me, sir, but I’m kind of lost and I was wondering if you could tell me where I am and what . . . uh, what—”_

_From the moment he’d begun speaking, the other man had frozen in obvious surprise. When he turned slowly to face the doorway in which his son and his visitor lingered, his eyes wide and mouth gaping, astonishment was written large on his striking profile._

_“Holy shit,” he said, his tan face paling alarmingly as he looked from his son to his guest. Said guest was dealing with astonishment of his own as he gazed at the boy’s father, whose face was more than familiar. It was, in fact, the_ only _thing he recognized about this place in which he found himself. A name struggled from the depth of the morass that passed for his memory._

_“Poe?” slipped from his lips in quiet disbelief. The other man smiled wonderingly, wiping his smudgy fingers on his even smudgier shirt. “Poe Dameron?”_

_“Finn, you’re—_ alive _?!” he asked, stepping over junk to stand before his guest, his shocked expression turning melancholy and yearning. He reached out and touched his guest’s shoulder and upon feeling that it was solid, his face crumpled and he pulled the other man into a tight embrace. “Is this a dream? They said you were dead . . . that the explosion incinerated everything within a two hundred-mile radius. They said you were at the epicenter of it and there was no chance . . ._ no chance _you coulda made it out . . . but by the Maker, you’re alive!”_

_Then he was leaning back to gaze at his guest with distrust that was hurtful, to say the least. “No. I’ve had this dream before . . . it’s never real._ You’re _never real. At least . . . not_ this _real,” Poe murmured, scanning the other man with eyes that were brimming. “I always wake up . . . alone.” Shaking his head, Poe looked down for a few moments, tears dripping from his eyes. Frowning, his guest reached out tentatively to brush his fingers down Poe’s cheek._

_“I . . . I don’t remember much about who I am or what I’m doing here, but if there’s one thing I know . . . it’s_ you _, Poe Dameron . . . you_ named _me. I_ was _FN-2187, and you named me . . ._ Finn _,” he said quietly. Then he glanced at the boy next to him and smiled. "You really like that name, huh?"_

 

 _Poe shook his head, more tears falling."_ _This is a dream . . . it_ has _to be. . . ."_

 

_Finn's smile softened. "Well, if this is a dream, then it's a good one," he murmured tenderly._

_Poe looked up with clear reluctance, reaching out to cup the other man’s face in his hand, never mind the smudges of dirt and grease still left on his own palm and fingertips. His other hand settled on Finn’s waist, pulling him close again, into a kiss that felt—to Finn, at least—as if it was a thousand years in coming. . . ._

TBC


	8. The Plan 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt (http://tfa-kink.dreamwidth.org/1082.html?thread=51770#cmt51770): They go on a mission where they have to pretend to be married! Complete with sharing a room with only one bed, having to act affectionate towards each other, and all those wonderful fake marriage tropes.
> 
> Bonus points if they already have secret feelings for each other and it makes everything even more awkward at first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes/Warnings: Vague spoilers for Episode VII.
> 
> Also--thank you for those of you who stick around reading and maybe even commenting. Thank you for your valuable input and concrit. Thank you for trusting me to lead you into the forest, and back out again, a little better for having made the trip.

“What the hell did you _do_ to him, Luke?”

 

Poe didn’t even have to look around from his station at Finn’s bedside to know the Jedi was lingering in the doorway. Blinking back tears, Poe held Finn’s hand in his own, occasionally kissing his knuckles. The unconscious man’s face, even in repose, was set in lines of worry and sadness.

 

 _But at least the seizures have stopped_ , Poe thought wearily. _I guess we can thank the Maker for small favors_.

 

Having received no answer for long moments, Poe finally glanced over his shoulder. Luke was indeed standing there, staff in hand, brown and grey clothes standing out in the infirmary’s white-red-orange décor. “Well?”

 

Sighing, Luke entered the room proper, slowly navigating his way to Finn’s other side, and the chair in which Rey had been sitting. At least until she got sick of staring at Finn with tears running down her face. She’d looked so devastated that even Poe hadn’t the urge to needle her, as he usually did. Indeed, when she’d stood up suddenly, muttering: “I can’t do this again,” and hurried out of the room, Poe’s heart had briefly gone out to her.  Rey hadn’t yet learned the Jedi trick of seeming or actually _being_ emotionless and free of attachment. The first time Finn had been injured—had borne the brunt of Kylo Ren’s wrath while Rey had been unconscious—and brought back to the base, Rey had visited many times, but rarely stayed more than a few minutes.

 

Poe had understood that. The need to get out, to avoid seeing a loved one so weak and helpless, maybe even at death’s door. . . .

 

He’d understood it, but hadn’t been able, in his heart, to reconcile that frightened girl with the amazing, fearless woman Finn had described to him with such intense admiration.

 

When Poe looked at Rey, all he saw was a scared, somewhat arrogant kid, playing at being a Jedi. One with a big heart, who should never have gotten mixed up with Luke Skywalker or anything remotely Jedi-related. As everyone knew, those who chose to wield the Force—whether Jedi or Sith—in their quest for peace at all costs, brought death, disorder, and destruction to those they would help or subjugate.

 

Like all other monsters, neither Jedi knight nor Sith lord ever seemed to realize they _were_ one. No matter how high the body count on their way to a lasting order and peace.

 

“I didn’t do anything to him, and that’s the truth of it . . . though I doubt you’ll believe that,” Luke murmured, taking Finn’s other hand with another sigh. Poe had to resist the urge to slap it away from Finn.

 

“Your doubt is correct.” Poe glared at Luke, who was staring at Finn’s face, frowning. “I don’t trust you as far as I could throw you. Every word out of your mouth—including _and_ and _hello_ —is an obfuscation or a half-truth.”

 

Luke winced, but didn’t bother denying it. Instead he changed the subject. “Will this change your plans for a honeymoon on Yavin 4?”

 

“ _That_ would be none of your business,” Poe said flatly, squeezing his husband’s hand and bowing his head over their linked fingers.

 

_Wake up, sweetheart. Wake up._

 

“Considering that you both went to all the trouble to get married . . . missing your window to keep your inheritance would be rather counterproductive, I’d think.”

 

Poe froze for a few seconds as he remembered, for the first time in almost a full day, the _real_ reason he and Finn had gotten married. It’d had nothing to do with the sudden and strangely powerful adoration that’d sprung up between them, and everything to do with keeping Cardeno Bey’s lands and possessions in the family.

 

The question was . . . how did _Luke Skywalker_ know about that? Or was he, as surely as every Jedi before him, merely pretending to knowledge he did not have? Was he putting feelers out to see what was blowing in the wind? Or did he somehow know that Poe and Finn’s marriage might as well have been fake?

 

 _No_ , Poe thought, gazing at Finn’s face. _Whatever the initial purpose of this marriage was, whatever our intentions, we started this relationship in friendship and love, and that’s not fake. And that love somehow changed to something deeper. Something neither of us had been expecting. But now that it’s here, now that I can see it, I don’t know how I could’ve possibly missed it, let alone lived without it._

_Even if I have to forfeit Grandpa Card’s land and possessions, if I get to keep Finn . . . I’ll be a happy man. And the luckiest man in the galaxy_.

 

Setting his face in its most forbidding expression—not likely to work on a Jedi knight, but Poe did it, anyway—he looked up at Luke and leaned closer, over Finn’s sleeping form. “Look, I don’t know what _you_ _think_ you know, but—”

 

“It’s very important that you not lose your inheritance, Poe. That that land stays in the Dameron family. In your hands and Finn’s.”

 

“Oh, really?” Poe snorted. “Alright, I’ll play along and ask: why’s that, Master Jedi?”

 

A half-smile curving his pale lips, Luke met Poe’s eyes. “Would you prefer an obfuscation or a half-truth? Or I can flat-out lie to you, if you like.”

 

A sudden and unwilling laugh burbled up out of Poe and he looked away from Luke, fighting the natural—if somewhat melancholy—charm the Jedi seemed to have. “You can do whatever you wish—say whatever you wish. Doesn’t mean I have to listen.”

 

“No, it doesn’t.” Luke sighed again, and dug in the folds of his brown robe. A second later he was taking out the twig he’d given to Finn in General Organa’s office mere hours ago. Poe immediately stood up, angrier in that moment than he’d ever been in his entire life prior.

 

“Get that thing away from him,” he gritted out, letting go of Finn’s hand and ready to throw-down with a Jedi, if necessary. Knowing he’d likely lose, and badly, but seeing no other recourse to keep Finn safe.

 

Luke barely glanced up at Poe, so entranced was he by the sprig of green he held. “Do you know where this twig came from, Poe?”

 

“Don’t know, don’t care. All I know is after my husband played with that stick, he wound up having a fucking grand mal seizure. Now, are _you_ gonna get rid of it on your own, or am I gonna _make_ you?”

 

Luke smiled at the stick. “Now, now, Poe, we were getting along perfectly fine without threats.”

 

“I’m warning you, Luke—” Poe began to skirt the hospital bed, fists clenched. Luke looked up at him and suddenly, Poe couldn’t move. Couldn’t even speak. The only thing he could do was breathe and blink.

 

“I do apologize, Poe, but now’s not the time to play out this particular drama. You blame me for Shara’s death—rather for my inability to cure that which killed her—and you fear that now, having found someone you love as much as you loved Shara, that I’ve reappeared to make a repeat of her death happen. Suffice it to say, that’s untrue. You only believe that because you fear loss. The loss of your husband, whom you love enough to threaten a Jedi for.” Luke paused, frowned, and waved at the chair Poe had just vacated. “You will sit down, and remain silent and still until I release you.

 

 _The fuck I will!_ Poe tried to say. _Tried_. The only things on him that would move were his legs, backing him up to his chair, and his hands, bracing on the arm-rests as he sat.

 

Breath whistling out of his nose—another involuntary response he couldn’t change—Poe stared impassively at Luke, all the while raging inside.

 

“Now,” Luke said brusquely. “Where were we? Ah, yes. The _Amazing Singing Twig_ , as Finn called it.” Holding up the twig with its half-dead leaf in his cybernetic hand, Luke reached for Finn’s hand with the other. “I never did get to explain to him why he could hear it singing when you couldn’t. Things got . . . derailed, and I thought that I could take up the tale of the twig tomorrow. And I suppose I’ll have to, since it’s already tomorrow and Finn’s still not due to wake up for hours, yet.

 

“This twig is not just from any tree, Poe. It is a clipping from a tree that grows in only two places in the universe. And one of those places is Yavin 4.” Luke’s gaze met Poe’s. “I gave your mother a clipping from the original tree to keep safe, in a place where the Sith or their lackeys would never look. And she did—never was there a truer guardian for the defenseless than Shara Bey,” he sighed again, shaking his head. “You may, of course, be wondering what made this tree so special.”

 

One glance at Poe’s angry, frustrated eyes, and Luke snorted. “Or you may not. But either way, you’re going to listen, being, as you are, my captive audience.  The long and short of it is, the tree both the clippings came from was a Force-sensitive tree that was thousands of years old. Shara Bey helped me save two pieces of the tree from destruction, and I gave her one of the pieces, and bid her keep it safe, which she did. From that clipping grew a sturdy, if rather unassuming tree. One that, after your mother’s death, I tasked your _grandfather_ with protecting. Which _he_ did, until his death, for Shara Bey planted the clipping on her father’s land, thinking them safer than her own. Surely you must remember such a tree, Poe, on the lands where you grew up?”

 

Seething in his silent stillness, Poe merely glared at Luke, who shrugged and held up his twig. “This clipping comes from the other tree, which I protected and took care of, even in my exile. Even just fallen twig such as this can exponentially increase the sensitivity of a Force-sensitive person. It can enable them to tap into the Force to . . . _See_ , what others, even Jedi masters cannot. It can allow a Force-sensitive to look into the future—to follow the long chains of cause and effect to their end, if there is such a thing. Prolonged exposure the tree can make a Force-sensitive person even _more_ sensitive, to the point that they can separate, See, and even change each possibility as if it were happening. And without the aid of the Amazing Singing Twig or its like.

 

“As you may have guessed by now, Finn Dameron is one such sensitive. And a _powerful_ one. He can See even without physical contact with the twig. That kind of Force-sensitivity hasn’t been seen in a thousand years, Poe.”

 

Luke cast a worried glance at Finn. “Right now, he’s following a particular possibility to its conclusion—if, indeed, it has one. He’s physically here, with us, but his spirit’s come free of its resting place to walk in the future. One of them, anyway. And he may not even realize that he’s . . . not a natural part of the possibility he’s currently in. He may not remember who he is, or where he’s supposed to be. He may be lost in the Sight.”

 

Poe—whose breathing had finally slowed into something that could pass for normal—was gazing impatiently at Luke, unable to even move his eyes, so he could have a much better view (Finn) while he was incapacitated and bored out of his gourd.

 

Luke opened Finn’s hand and placed the twig in it, closing it around the bit of green. Alarmed, Poe fought his will-less body. He tried to yell, to growl, to reach out and sweep that damned stick out of Finn’s palm. . . .

 

It was no use.

 

But Luke seemed to sense Poe’s . . . frustration and anger. He looked at the younger man and smiled. “The twig is merely a booster rocket, Poe. It can’t change direction on its own or control itself. It can merely augment. Now,” Luke stood up with a groan and stepped behind his chair. “You will come sit in this chair and you will take Finn’s hand, making certain that you’re both in contact with the twig. You will do this, and nothing else, until I instruct you further.”

 

Sure enough, Poe found himself standing and skirting the bed once more. Once he was in front of Luke’s chair, he sat and took Finn’s cool hand. He linked their fingers and pressed their palms together, all but crushing the twig between their hands.

 

“Good,” Luke said, patting Poe’s shoulder with the cybernetic hand. “Very good. You may speak.”

 

Poe blinked—involuntarily—and opened his mouth—voluntarily. “What the _fuck_ are you _talking_ about? Are you mental? Force-trees and seeing the future? Seriously, though, are you fucking _crazy_?” Poe tried to move anything other than his mouth and tongue, and couldn’t. He could barely feel Finn’s hand in his own. “Nothing you say or have said makes a lick of goddamned sense!”

 

Luke sighed, his cybernetic hand squeezing Poe’s shoulder. “I don’t suppose it does, Poe. But can you have faith that I know how to bring Finn back? To wake him up? And to teach him to control his Sight-walking so that in the future, he doesn’t wind up in the infirmary?”

 

Another involuntary blink. “No. No, I can’t.”

 

“Can’t or won’t?”

 

“Is there a difference?”

 

“Yes. Though in this case, I imagine it seems like a difference without distinction, to you.” Luke reached down and covered Poe and Finn’s hands with his flesh hand. “I don’t know what to say to convince you—even my Jedi training has only left me with middling skills at diplomacy—that I’m on the level. That the longer Finn is unconscious, the harder it’ll be to wake him up. The longer he Sight-walks, the harder it will be for him to come back to his real life.”

 

Poe, whose gaze was now at least resting on Finn’s hand, if not his face, thought for a minute before speaking. “Did you know what would happen when you gave him the twig? Did you know he’d end up in the infirmary, unconscious after having a seizure? Did you _know that_ , and give him the stick anyway?”

 

“You mean, what did I know and when did I know it?” Luke asked quietly. “Would you believe me if I told you I knew that he’d be able to See all the different possibilities—or, in his case, hear them like billions of separate songs—and go Sight-walking along them, but that I had no idea he’d suffer any ill effects greater than a hangover-style headache?”

 

Poe would have shaken his head, had he been able. “No.”

 

“Do you believe, then, that I can wake him up.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Will you let me try, then?”

 

“Can I stop you?”

 

“I need _some_ small amount of faith from you to bring him back to where he belongs.”

 

“Fine. I have _faith_ that you can undo the mess _you_ got my husband into. If only because you’re the one who got him into it,” Poe said as tears of anger and frustration rolled down his cheeks. Finn’s hand lay lax and cool in his own. And it did feel as if Finn was . . . gone, didn’t it? In a different way from when he was injured in the fight with Kylo Ren. Then, it’d felt as if Finn was very much present, just sleeping.

 

But now, it felt . . . different. As if Poe was knocking, but there wasn’t anyone at home. As if the body in the bed wasn’t captained by _anyone_ , let alone Finn.

 

This body was just breathing meat. Finn wasn’t _in_ it, or near it—might never be in it or near it again, if Luke Skywalker was to be believed. And though Poe _didn’t_ know if the Jedi was to be believed, he knew that if even a fraction of what Luke had said was the truth, then only Luke could bring him back.

 

And even if he couldn’t, at this point, what more harm could he do? Even the doctor hadn’t been able to hazard a guess as to why Finn hadn’t woken up already.

 

“Well, what’re you waiting for? And engraved invitation? Just—do what you have to do,” Poe said around the frog in his throat. He started when Luke leaned over him to cover Poe’s and Finn’s hands with his own. “Get him back, if you ca—”

 

“Hush. And be still,” Luke murmured, his voice tight with strain. For a moment, Poe wished he could turn around and see the expression on Luke’s face, see what the Jedi was doing. But he kept silent—and still—just in case. “ _Holy Maker_ —no wonder I couldn’t sense him!” Luke muttered in a rather dismayed voice. “He’s gone almost thirty years down his one of his _own_ possibilities! How in the Hell did he do that _without_ training?! He shouldn’t even be able to _sense_ his own possibilities, let alone travel down them so far! He’s entrenched . . . invested. Happy. It’s gonna be . . . tough to budge him.”

 

“Are you saying you can’t wake him up, after all?” Poe asked, then went cold as something else Luke said hit him. “What do you mean he’s _happy_? How can a _fever-dream_ make him happy—let alone happier than he’d be . . . here . . . with me?”

 

More tears rolled down Poe’s face and Luke squeezed his shoulder.

 

“Sight-walks are more than fever-dreams, Poe. _This one_ especially. From what I’m sensing, it’s nothing more or less than everything Finn’s ever wanted, but doubts he’ll find anywhere else. And it’s our job to drag him away from it.” Luke suddenly squeezed their hands. “Here goes nothin,’” he gritted out, and before Poe could even feel alarmed at such a defeatist battle-cry, the world went dark.

 

#

 

_“Have you beaten the water-heater into submission, yet?”_

_Poe looked up from the great hulk of metal and alloy and grinned briefly, taking the lemonade his husband offered. “I’m about to. That’s the only way to get this piece of shit to work right.”_

_Finn Dameron laughed, leaning against the ancient, busted water-heater, sipping from his own glass of lemonade: lots of lemon,_ lots _of sugar . . . and a little water just for respectability. He watched Poe down almost the whole glass in seconds, then wipe his sweaty brow with his forearm._

_“You know, they make towels for that? I even recall bringing you one this morning.”_

_Poe spluttered and stammered, noticeably holding his free hand slightly behind himself. Suspicious, Finn frowned. “Why’re you hiding your arm, Poe?”_

_“What? Me? Hiding? My arm? That’s laughable!”_

_“And yet I’m not laughing,” Finn murmured, taking Poe’s now empty glass. “You can’t hide your arm forever. I’m gonna see it sooner or later. I’d rather it be sooner.”_

_Poe held his—_ terrible _—expression of faux innocence for almost a minute, but Finn merely stared patiently, holding the sweating glasses._

_“Okay, okay.” Poe brought his arm forward and held it up. The arm was relatively clean, considering Poe had been fighting with the water-heater since shortly after eight in the morning. Near the wrist, however, was a rather bloody towel that’d been turned into a tourniquet. “I kinda nicked myself with the plasma scraper.”_

_“I’ll say you did.” Finn grimaced, then sighed. “Okay, time for a break. In the house, and I’ll clean it and get you properly bandaged up.”_

_“But—”_

_“Oh, I’m sorry, did I accidentally imply that you had a choice in the matter? My bad. Inside, soldier. Triple-time!” Finn crossed the yard to the back door. Poe hurried after, muttering to himself. But he stepped inside without fuss when Finn held the door open for him._

_#_

_“There,” Finn said when his husband’s arm was clean and bandaged with a protective layer of Nu-Skin. “Tell me that’s not better than bleeding out into one of my towels.”_

_Poe grumbled something under his breath about precious water-heater time being wasted, and Finn closed the medicine cabinet. Then he crossed his arms and stared at their reflections in the mirror. Well, he stared at_ Poe’s _reflection, because_ Holy Maker _, even after all these years, just looking at him made Finn’s heart beat faster. Maybe it was the muscles. Maybe it was the curly more-salt-than-pepper hair. Or maybe it was the fact that even after all he’d seen and done, all the tears and all the years, Poe Dameron was still a wide-eyed optimist, who believed in goodness and loyalty and the eventual fixing of ancient water-heaters._

_“See something you like, sweetheart?” Poe asked, breaking Finn out of his reverie. Finn met his husband’s eyes in the mirror and quirked an eyebrow._

_“I might . . . if what I was looking at was a bit less dirty and covered in dried blood.”_

_Poe grinned and stopped leaning on the sink. He wrapped his arms around a half-heartedly protesting Finn who, sensing when the battle was lost, let Poe pull him into a loose embrace. Finn rolled his eyes when he realized Poe was half-hard. “Ah, you_ like _me dirty, sweetheart.”_

_Finn opened his mouth to deny that statement, but instead, said: “Perhaps. But not covered in dried blood.”_

_Poe’s grin widened, his ridiculously handsome face creasing into sexy smile lines that still made Finn’s blood rush and his heart beat faster. “You know I only injure myself so you can play nurse and patch me up. I know how much you like to take care of me.” He paused and that grin turned into a tender smile. “And you really do an amazing job of it.”_

_“Well,” Finn huffed, pleased nonetheless. “Seeing as how my sixty-three years old child-man of a husband can’t manage to go one day without injuring himself . . . I had to learn to be a nurse or be forever taking you to the Emergency Room.”_

_“Oh, really, it’s never_ that _bad, sweetheart.”_

_Finn rolled his eyes. “Uh-huh. Whatever you say.”_

_“_ That’s _what I like to hear!” Poe maneuvered them so that he had Finn leaning back against the sink. “Now, what say we hit the shower and get nice and clean, before we get dirty again?”_

_“Baby, that water’s gonna be ice-cold. Remember?”_

_“Nah, it’s still late summer. It’ll be practically room temperature.”_

_“_ There’s _a glowing endorsement if I’ve ever heard one.” Finn rolled his eyes but let himself be kissed. Then undressed. Then kissed some more as they fumbled their way into the shower-stall._

_Halfway through their shower—which featured more horseplay than actually bathing—Finn went dead-still, frowning. Behind him, pinning him to the wall of the stall, Poe continued wreaking hickeys on Finn’s neck and thrusting lazily into Finn’s body for a minute before he realized they were no longer on the same page._

_“Baby, what’s wrong?” Poe murmured into the skin of Finn’s shoulder, lower than the patter of the mostly cold water. “You okay?”_

_Finn shook his head to clear it and was only marginally successful. “Just felt a little . . . weird for a second.” But he nevertheless pushed back against Poe, as ever he had. Soon, Poe was thrusting away again like a happy bunny and Finn . . . managed to submerge himself in the sweet, sinful perfection of letting Poe practically pound him into the shower wall._

_But in the back of his mind, that feeling—as if something was suddenly_ off _about his world—lingered and grew._

_#_

_When Finn woke up later, in their bed, he was alone and the sun had set._

_He sat up, yawning and stretching a few determined kinks out of his spine, then reached for his bedside lamp._

_Even with the cheery, golden glow lighting the room, he still felt strange. As if he was still asleep. Groggy and disoriented._

_“Poe?” he called, standing up and going to get his robe from the back of the bathroom door. Once robed, he shuffled into the hallway, past Finny’s old room—which neither he nor Poe had the heart to change, or do more to than dust it, despite the fact that Finny’d been offworld and in the Army for seven years—and to the back staircase, which led to the kitchen. “Baby, why’d you let me sleep so long? You_ do _realize this means leftovers for dinner, right?”_

_There was no answer. And when Finn got to the kitchen, it was to see his husband, wearing nothing but pajama bottoms, in a quiet, intense staring match with a man wearing the browns and tans of—_

_“Jedi,” Finn exhaled, and both men turned to look at him. Poe looked both worried and heart-broken. The man across from him—the Jedi—looked both solemn and resolute. Both of them, however, stood up when Finn entered the kitchen proper._

_“Poe . . . what’s going on?” Finn padded to his husband’s side. Poe immediately put a possessive arm around him and held him close. “Who is this?”_

_“Nobody. That’s who it is,” Poe said, dourly, though his ire seemed to be aimed at the Jedi, who was staring abashedly at Finn, as if Finn had three heads._

_Shuddering, Finn leaned against Poe and gave the Jedi a once-over in return. He was around Poe’s age, from the look of him, neither tall nor short, and he had one cybernetic arm. His face was boyish, despite the beard and the rough, wind-blown look of him._

_“And what business does a Jedi have all the way out on Yavin 4? With_ us _, no less?” Finn asked shakily, his grogginess fleeing, but his sense of disorientation growing noticeably worse as he stared at the Jedi._

_“Whoa, sweetheart, are you okay?” Poe asked as Finn listed against him, his breathing turned shallow and quick. He helped Finn into the nearest chair and knelt before him, cupping his husband’s cheek in his hand. “You feel cool and clammy. Are you alright?”_

_“I’m fine, it’s just . . . Poe,_ he _doesn’t belong here.” Finn gestured at the Jedi, but didn’t look at him, for fear the disorientation would worsen. “Why is he here?”_

_“A good question,” Poe said, glancing at the Jedi, who was still standing and watching Finn and Poe avidly. “Maybe he can answer it on his way out the door.”_

_“You know I’m not leaving without Finn. He doesn’t belong here, either.”_

_“Says who?_ You _?_ You’re _the reason he—” Poe closed his mouth on whatever he’d been about to say with an audible click._

_“I’m the reason he what?” the Jedi asked gently, and Poe looked away, returning his full attention to Finn._

_“Sweetheart, don’t listen to him. He’s crazy and a liar.”_

_Finn shook his head and closed his eyes for a few seconds. “I want him to go.”_

_“You and me both, hon.” Poe stood up and faced the Jedi. “You’re not welcome here, Luke.”_

_“I sensed that. Call it a Jedi mind-trick.”_

_“Look, I’m warning you—”_

_“That you’ll . . . what?”_

_For that, Poe had no answer, and Finn risked looking at the Jedi. “You’re nothing but a bully.”_

_“Actually, I’m quite a few other things besides a bully.” The Jedi’s smile turned wry. “But I’m sensing that you won’t believe a word that comes out of my mouth.”_

_“Why should we?” Poe demanded angrily. “I haven’t seen you in nearly thirty years, and the last time I_ did _see you—” Poe cut himself off again, and Finn frowned glancing up at his husband._

_“The last time you saw him, he . . . what?”_

_  
“Nothing, sweetheart—it’s nothing—look, why don’t you get dressed in your best suit, because after I get rid of Luke, I’m taking you somewhere fancy for dinner.” Poe tried to grin, but it didn’t reach his worried, anxious eyes._

_Finn’s brow furrowed, and he stared hard at the Jedi once more, before finally sighing and turning to kiss Poe’s cheek._

_“Okay. But if you need help, give a yell,” Finn whispered in Poe’s ear. The other man nodded, and Finn let him go, turning to go back up the stairs. He was halfway up when he heard their voices again: The Jedi’s was calm and even pleasant. Poe’s was clipped and raised._

_Once in their bedroom, Finn closed the door and leaned against it for a few moments, letting his heart race for a bit, before he went to work calming it. He then went to his closet, pulling out his best outfit—a magenta-purple retro suit that upon trying it on, Finn had thought he looked ridiculous in. But Poe had felt otherwise, it was safe to say. Before Finn could even change out of the suit, Poe had pinned him against the wall, slid down his body, and blown Finn in the changing room._

_Smiling at that memory, Finn took the suit and laid it on the bed. He was unbelting his robe when rough hands settled on his own and a warm breath was sighed on his nape. He hadn’t even heard the door open._

_“Is he gone?” Finn asked, leaning back into the familiar, beloved arms tentatively._

_“Hunh?” Kisses trailed from nape to shoulder, and Finn’s husband let go of his hands to push the robe down both shoulders._

_“That weird Jedi—is he gone?”_

_“Uh. . . .”_

_“He’d better not come back.” Finn said flatly. “Next time I see him, I’m gonna put a smoking hole in that robe of his.”_

_“Finn . . . baby,” Poe said with clear hesitation. “I—he—” groaning, Poe leaned his forehead on Finn’s shoulder. “He told me to wait outside . . . that he’d handle it. But I couldn’t. I had to see you. I had to know what kind of Sight-walk could grab hold of you and keep you . . . and now I know. It’s a life with me, on Yavin 4.”_

_Finn frowned at the rough, choked-up quality of his husband’s voice and started to turn around. But Poe stopped him by holding onto Finn’s biceps and kissing his nape again. So Finn just settled for asking: “Poe, what’re you_ talking _about?”_

_“Nothing, baby, nothing, just . . . I love you, and I’d do anything for you.”_

_Finn smiled. “Ditto.”_

_Poe suddenly hugged Finn closer for a few moments before his left arm disappeared. It returned shortly with a small twig, a dying leaf clinging desperately to it._

_“I have a present for you,” Poe whispered and Finn chuckled._

_“I hope it’s not this twig you’re holding.”_

_“It is, indeed, the twig I’m holding.”_

_“Gee . . . you shouldn’t have.”_

_Poe laughed. “Well, I can think of a few other gifts I’ve been wanting to give you . . . but before I can, you have to take this.” Poe brushed the leaf, which was crisp with its decline, against the back of Finn’s left hand._

_“What kind of tree did this come from?” Finn asked curiously, turning his hand to take the sprig from Poe, who sighed and caught Finn’s hand in his own, pressing the twig between them and linking their fingers tight._

_“According to Luke, it’s from a special tree on this property. But I don’t remember ever seeing it. However, this stick has the power to take you home. To take you back to where you belong: with me.”_

_“_ What _?” Finn demanded, going cold suddenly. He tried to turn in Poe’s arms and this time Poe let him, the twig still held in their hands, which were now behind Finn’s back._

_Finn gasped when he got a good look at his husband. Or the person who looked like his husband, only thirty years younger._

_“Luke!” the husband-person called, at the same time Finn called out: “Poe!”_

_The echo of their shouts had barely faded before there was a commotion coming up the back stairs, then past Finny’s room, then it . . . stopped._

_The door to their bedroom, which was slightly ajar, opened. Standing framed and backlit in the doorway, was the Jedi._

_But there was no sign of Poe. The_ real _Poe._

_Frightened almost out of his mind at what this supposed-Jedi could have done to his husband, Finn began to struggle, but he was enervated by his fear and confusion. Not to mention that he had at least twenty years on the husband-lookalike._

_“What do you want with us?” Finn practically plead, trying to free his hand, but unable to. Meanwhile the Jedi approached Finn, looking at him curiously._

_“You even look every day of your fifty-three years! You’ve aged to suit this possibility—what time and effort has gone into this!” The Jedi shook his head and sighed. “No matter, I suppose. At least not yet. But for now . . . sleep.”_

_And the Jedi waved his hand in front of Finn’s face. Finn immediately felt like closing his eyes . . . but he fought the urge, staring down the Jedi hard._

_The Jedi’s blue eyes narrowed, and he waved his hand in front of Finn’s face again. This time, unconsciousness hit Finn like a freightship._

_#_

_“So . . . what do we do now? How do we get back?” Poe asked Luke, who was staring at the slumped body in Poe’s arms. “Damnit, Luke! How do we_ get back _?”_

_Taking a breath, Luke reached out for Finn and Poe's still linked hands with his own flesh hand. “Like this,” he said, grasping their clenched fingers and squeezing._

_For nearly a minute, nothing happened . . . then the bedroom door burst open and in came . . . Poe._

_An older Poe._

_An angrier Poe._

_A Poe with a blaster pistol._

_“Oh, fuck—” Poe said as his older double fired at Luke. But about halfway to Luke’s skull, the blast froze in mid-air._

_“So, that’s where Kylo Ren learned it,” he breathed, holding Finn closer and kissing his temple. Then the world around them began to go gently dark. The last thing Poe_ saw _before Everything went_ Away _, was his older doppelganger staring at the frozen shot from the blaster, his mouth gaping and agog._

_The last thing Poe_ heard _was a voice—his own agonized voice—calling after Finn._

_And then, everything was gone._

#

 

Poe’s eyes fluttered open and he groaned, squinting against a bright light.

 

His vision was trebled and fuzzy, and he was slouched back uncomfortably in a chair that could’ve doubled as a torture device. He sat up, yawning around a mouth that tasted like death warmed over—only to stop, mid-yawn, at the sight before him:

 

Dr. Matushev was standing at the other side of Finn’s bed, asking questions that were being answered by a wide awake and self-deprecatingly smiling Finn.

 

“And how do you feel, now? Is there any pain?”

 

“Nope.”

 

“And do you remember what you were doing just before the seizure started?”

 

“Not really,” Finn said so casually that Poe knew he was lying.

 

“And what was the last thing you ate? Do you remember?”

 

“Uh, no . . . I think the last time I ate was breakfast on the day of my wedding—don’t remember what I had, though.”

 

The questions went on, like that, for some time. Poe tuned them out and tried, instead, to remember what’d happened after Luke Skywalker had put his lights out. He remembered darkness, like a wave and a wall, and then . . . waking up slouched in the horrible hospital chair.

 

But Finn was awake, so whatever had happened must’ve been successful, right? The details didn’t really matter, did they?

 

They must not have, if Luke had disappeared from the hospital room before Poe, and probably Finn had woken up.

 

Whatever had happened had been a major success. Of course it had! Finn was awake and smiling—so beautiful that it made Poe’s heart skip beats and his dick want to jump out of his trousers.

 

Oh, he really wanted some time alone with Finn. To hold him and talk to him and just _be_ with him.

 

Finally, the doctor was seemingly satisfied. He informed Finn—and Poe—that he’d apparently suffered from something called a Global Syncopal Event with an unknown cause.

 

“We’ll want to keep you for another day, just in case anything like this happens again. Especially since we don’t know what caused the seizure in the first place,” Dr. Matushev said, but Finn merely smiled and shook his head.

 

“Sorry, Doc, I actually have to be getting to Yavin 4. It’s my honeymoon.” Finn lifted up his hand, which was still linked with Poe’s. The pilot hadn’t even noticed.

 

Matushev tried to talk Finn out of travel so soon after the seizure, but Finn was adamant. Poe didn’t have to say a damned thing and so kept his mouth shut.

 

When Matushev finally gave up and went to get a nurse to bring the release forms, Finn sighed and freed his hand from Poe—who was reluctant to let go, but did—so he could bury his face in his hands and moan irritably.

 

When Finn neither disappeared nor collapsed into a coma, Poe heaved a sigh of relief and didn’t notice when a mashed twig and leaf fell from his palm to the floor.

 

“You . . . okay, sweetheart?” he asked tentatively. Finn nodded, but didn’t look up. Poe reached out to put his hand on Finn’s shoulder, only to get the surprise of his life when Finn flinched away before contact was made.

 

“Don’t touch me,” Finn said softly, without inflection. Poe’s hand hovered briefly over Finn’s shoulder while _Poe_ , in shock, tried to make sense of what he’d just heard— _misheard_ , was more like.

 

“Finn,” he said—almost plead. “Is something wrong? Tell me—I love you and I want to help you fix it.”

 

Finn looked up but didn’t meet Poe’s gaze. His face was unreadable and wary as he bent a hard glance at the air above Poe’s shoulder. “Only one person can help me now. Where’s the Jedi?” he asked, shivering and shuddering. “Where’s Luke Skywalker?”

 

TBC


	9. The Plan 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt (http://tfa-kink.dreamwidth.org/1082.html?thread=51770#cmt51770): They go on a mission where they have to pretend to be married! Complete with sharing a room with only one bed, having to act affectionate towards each other, and all those wonderful fake marriage tropes.
> 
> Bonus points if they already have secret feelings for each other and it makes everything even more awkward at first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes/Warnings: Vague spoilers for Episode VII.

Poe waited in the infirmary, just outside of Finn’s room, trying not to pace and mostly succeeding.

 

Finn was getting dressed while the nurse had him leave his thumbprint on the data reader full of paperwork. Finn’s voice, low and meek, sounded after every briskly-asked question from Nurse Osterlin, and sooner rather than later, Finn was following her out of the room. He stopped when he saw Poe leaning against the opposite wall.

 

“You didn’t have to wait for me,” he said, not meeting Poe’s eyes. Poe stood up straight and almost reached out to Finn. But he stopped himself, remembering Finn’s plea, mere minutes ago, not to touch him.

 

And Poe Dameron never had to be asked twice, when it came to that sort of thing.

 

Putting his hands behind his back, Poe tried to smile, not that it mattered. Finn was literally looking everywhere but at him.

 

Sighing, Poe gestured for Finn to walk ahead of him. After a moment of reluctance, Finn did, his arms crossed over his chest. He looked . . . somehow smaller . . . older, even, though he was still an inch taller than Poe and his face was as unlined and boyish as ever.

 

“Of course I’m gonna wait for you, Finn . . . I love you. And I worry about you.”

 

Walking behind Finn, Poe could see the muscles in his neck and shoulder tense up as Finn slowed to a stop. He turned to look at Poe, his expression angry and resentful enough that Poe took a step back.

 

“Is that why you and Luke came to . . . _rescue_ me?” Finn asked coldly. “Because you love me?”

 

“Well, yeah.” It was the plain truth that Poe couldn’t lie about and wouldn’t. Even seeing how angry it made Finn. “He said the longer you were Sight-walking, the harder it’d be to get you back . . . but we _did_ it.” Poe grinned hopefully. “We _saved_ you.”

 

“ _Saved_ me? Are you fucking clueless? Or did you just not see that I didn’t _need_ _saving_?” Finn demanded, wiping his too-shiny eyes. “Or maybe you just didn’t care?”

 

Poe frowned, ignoring the stinging behind his eyes. “You . . . what do you mean you didn’t need saving? Luke said—” and Poe paused before he could even finish. What _had_ Luke said? That Finn was living nothing more or less than the life he’d always wanted . . . and Poe had listened with envy and anger and no small amount of hurt and betrayal.

 

He’d wanted to see what had entranced Finn so much that he was willing to leave behind the life they could’ve had together. He’d wanted to see it and understand it and . . . yes, reclaim his husband from it, if possible. Even if Finn had been getting everything he’d wanted . . . Poe had gone into this rescue attempt with nothing on his mind so much as _get Finn back_ . . . kicking and screaming if he had to.

 

_Well, looks like I did get him back_ , Poe thought, staring helplessly at Finn’s stoic face, wiped clean, now, of all emotion, if one ignored the welling tears still falling down his cheek. Poe automatically reached out to wipe them away, but Finn turned his face away.

 

“Don’t touch me,” he whispered unhappily, and Poe sighed.

 

“Why?” he asked, just as softly and unhappily. “Does my touch repulse you now? Do _I_ repulse you, in the wake of having had all you’d ever dreamed of? Do you hate me for bringing you home?”

 

“I _was_ home, Poe! I was _home_!” Finn started walking again, much faster, this time. “I was in the only place I ever felt like I belonged, with the only person I ever felt like I belonged with. We had a real family and a real marriage for almost thirty years. We had _each other_ . . . until you and Luke Skywalker showed up.”

 

Poe sped up his pace a bit and jumped in front of Finn, backing down the corridor. “So . . . you remember—”

 

“Everything.” Finn’s glance was quick and resentful. “I remember everything. I’ll never forget it.”

 

Poe sighed and shook his head. “All I remember is the world going dark, then getting bright again as I opened my eyes. And you were awake and talking and I was so fucking happy I couldn’t even move because I was caught up in watching you.” He stopped backing down the hall, and Finn stopped just short of bumping into him. Poe searched his eyes desperately for sign of the Finn who’d disappeared mere hours ago, only to return a stranger. “My intention was never to hurt you, sweetheart. If I _did_ hurt you . . . I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you and atoning, if that’s what you want. Tell me what I can do to make this right, and I’ll do my best.”

 

Finn snorted. “Send me back to where I was. That’s the only thing that can make this right.”

 

A cramp, like a bolt of agony, shot through Poe’s chest and he winced, hand coming up to rest over his heart. “I can’t send you back. I wouldn’t know how.”

 

“But Luke Skywalker would, wouldn’t he?” Finn nodded, stepping around Poe, to continue his ground-devouring stalk down the hall. “He’s the reason I went in the first place. He _must_ know how to send me back to life I belong to.”

 

“ _This_ is the life you belong to, Finn!” Poe called after him desperately. “This is where you’re valued and loved!”

 

Finn didn’t respond. He just kept walking.

 

#

 

Finn strode almost aimlessly down corridors, taking seemingly random turns without a moment of thought.

 

It wasn’t long before he found himself standing at the turn-off for the guest quarters.

 

Arms wrapped around himself—for some reason, he’d been freezing since he woke up in the infirmary, alone but for a dead-asleep Poe, holding his hand—he took the turn. Once he had, he knew exactly where he was going. He could hear _her_ song, like a paean to control and order, compassion and mercy, underneath the cacophony of the other guests’ songs.

 

Finn Dameron knew where he was going, alright. The only hesitation in going was that it meant he was one step closer to confronting the man responsible for ripping him out of the life he loved.

 

#

 

A few minutes later found Finn standing outside of a guest suite that was neither grand nor special.

 

A few _more_ minutes later found him finally swallowing his anger and fear—what had Finn to fear, after all? Luke Skywalker had already taken from him everything he’d loved—Finn put his hand on the door plate for the requisite three seconds it took for the computer system to recognize and announce him.

 

The door opened almost immediately, though before they opened even halfway, Rey—up and dressed in the Jedi uniform of tunic, trousers, and even robe/cloak—was tumbling out the door, into his arms, hugging him so tight he could barely breathe.

 

“Master Luke said you’d wake up by morning!” she enthused, bouncing in his arms. Then, with a final squeeze, she let go of him and stood back to get a good look at him. Whatever she saw made her frown. “Have you eaten breakfast? _Real_ breakfast, not what the infirmary serves?”

 

Finn snorted. “I’m not especially hungry, Rey. Listen, I came here looking for Luke Skywalker and it’s really important. I need to talk with him.”

 

Rey’s fine brows drew together and she sighed, nodding once. “He said you might come asking after him. That if you did, to tell you he’d be arranging transport aboard the Millennium Falcon, and . . . well, he and I will be in the black before noon, providing all goes well.”

 

Finn blinked. “But . . . you just got here. I mean, I haven’t seen you in eight months and you’re leaving after barely twelve hours?”

 

Rey flushed and looked down. “Master Luke didn’t even wish to stay this long. We should already be halfway to Yavin 4, by now. As it is, we’re likely to be late for our appoint—”

 

“You’re . . . you’re going to Yavin 4?” Finn asked in utter disbelief. Rey nodded. “Fuck—did he say why you were going there?”

 

“Not to me. Not exactly.” Rey sighed. “Likes to keep things close to the vest, does Master Luke. All he’d tell me was that we were going there because of another potential Jedi . . . uh, are you alright?” Looking quite concerned, she reached out and put her hand to Finn’s forehead. “You feel warm.”

 

“Don’t,” Finn said, backing out of touching range—and a little further, besides—just so he wouldn’t See . . . whatever there was to See in Rey’s future, in detail.  For even though her songs were far more controlled and orderly than, say, Poe’s, she had at least as many possible futures . . . some brighter than a new penny, others as tarnished and dark as an ancient piece of bronze.

 

_I don’t want to know_ , he told his brain forcefully, as it tried to parse her songs into individual futures and study them. It was, thankfully, very slow going without skin-to-skin contact. Finn closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. _I’ve got a lot on my plate—namely a sham-marriage and Maker knows what kind of reception from Poe’s family. Luke Skywalker’s recruitment of some poor Yavin 4 bumpkin doesn’t even make it across my radar . . . does it? Maker protect me, does_ Poe _know Skywalker’s hitting Yavin 4 looking for more padawans?_

 

Then: _Of course he does, how could he not? He must’ve talked about it with Skywalker while I was . . . unconscious. But regardless, all_ Poe and I _will have to do is pretend to be happy and sign some paperwork. And then, the farce’ll be over. And I can go back to where I belong. . . ._

 

Finn sighed and closed his eyes briefly, smiling as he remembered the time he and Poe—some version of Poe . . . for if Finn knew one thing, it was that he _had_ had a life with Poe, even if everyone else thought it was a dream—had taken a trip offworld to surprise Finny at D’Qar, the seat of the New Republic. Their son had looked so impressive in his uniform, his formerly wild corona of curls cut in a close-cropped style that nonetheless made him look more like Poe than anything. . . .

 

It’d been such a happy visit, and for a few moments, Finn basked in the memory, not noticing that Rey was both confused and hurt by Finn’s aversion to her touch. By the time he’d opened his eyes, she’d pasted on a smile.

 

“Anyway,” she said brightly, clapping her hands together. “Master Luke’ll be in the main hangar. And I suppose I’ll be in the mess hall if, after you see him, you feel like grabbing some breakfast.”

 

Finn nodded once. “I’ll remember that and do my best, since we won’t have any other time to catch up,” he said sadly. Rey’s smile turned wistful.

 

“Maybe on our way back through this sector we will,” she said hopefully, her eyes lit up like stars.

 

Knowing—just _knowing_ —that by the time Skywalker’s and Rey’s travels brought them back to D’Qar Base, that he might very well be ensconced back in the life he’d been ripped from—a life in which no one lied to him, everything was simple, and love wasn’t something that wast held hostage by a will. A life in which his marriage was real and his husband’s love was also real, and not a direct side effect of a friendship-with-benefits—knowing all that, Finn merely smiled and agreed with Rey, who surely knew better than he would just how rarely a Jedi’s travel’s brought her to the same place . . . ever.

 

“Maybe you will, at that. I’ll certainly look forward to it.” Finn bowed slightly and Rey bowed back, that wistful smile back on her face. Then Finn was striding back the way he’d come, toward the main hangar and Luke Skywalker.

 

#

 

Finding Luke Skywalker in the hangar wasn’t difficult. Once Finn saw the Millennium Falcon, he made a bee-line for it, enduring the congratulatory hails of friends, acquaintances, and well-wishers on his marriage.

 

By the time he reached the ship, his teeth were gritted together in a painful-looking smile. One that he let fade as he got within spitting distance of the Falcon. He could see Chewbacca and Skywalker leaning against the landing gear, chatting as if all was right with the galaxy.

 

That painful smile cranked back up a notch as Finn bore down on the pair.

 

Chewbacca, of course, spotted Finn, costing him the element of surprise. He groaned something out and Skywalker glanced in Finn’s direction, smiled, and turned back to Chewbacca. He patted the Wookie on the arm and Chewbacca made a gargling sort of sound that may have been laughter, before boarding the Falcon.

 

Luke Skywalker turned and began to walk away—quite briskly for a man with a walking stick.

 

“Hey! Where’re you going? I’ve got a bone to pick with you, Skywalker!” Finn called, earning many a surprised and concerned glance. Not one of those glances was Skywalker, however. Finn broke into a run after the Jedi, catching up to him after dodging a number of people, droids, and objects.

 

“You and I need to have a talk,” Finn said, taking the Jedi’s arm. Skywalker merely gave him a wry, sardonic glance. Finn frowned, but let go of Skywalker’s arm. But he kept pace with the Jedi, nonetheless. “You owe me an explanation, at the very least.”

 

“I understand that, Finn, but I thought you’d rather have our talk somewhere a little less . . . busy, than the main hangar of D’Qar Base.”

 

Glancing around—there were still eyes on them, curious, wondering, and plain, old _nosy_ —Finn blushed and crossed his arms over his chest. “Fine. Where do you have in mind?”

 

Skywalker merely smiled and lead the way.

 

#

 

“Seriously, Skywalker? We’re gonna throw-down in here?”

 

Skywalker cast another wry smile Finn’s way as he made himself comfortable on one of the benches near the back wall of Shooting Range 19. “Well. I heard this was the most consistently deserted place on D’Qar. That only one ex-Stormtrooper ever comes here regularly to shoot.” Finn rolled his eyes and Luke laughed. “At any rate, it’s a good place to have our little chat. We won’t be disturbed.”

 

Finn sighed and leaned against the divide separating the shooting gallery from the targets, arms crossed over his chest once more. “Whatever. It’s your circus. I’m just a clown.”

 

Luke tilted his head curiously. “Is that how you see this?”

 

Shrugging, Finn crossed his left leg over his right. Then reversed the order. He was anxious and jumpy. “ _Don’t_. Don’t do . . . _that thing_. That Jedi-thing where you turn all my words back on me. You owe me answers and probably more than one apology. Don’t try to make me dance for either. You’re supposed to be better than that. Aren’t you?”

 

Skywalker sighed. “Supposed to be, yeah. But it’s hard to live up to a standard when I’m the only one left to make sure I do.”

 

“But you’re _not_ the only one. Not anymore. _Rey’s_ a Jedi, too, and she looks up to you.” Finn’s brow furrowed. “Don’t you have a responsibility to be some kind of good example to her? And what if you _do_ find some other dumb kid on Yavin 4 who’s got the chops to be a Jedi?”

 

Skywalker’s eyebrows lifted and he chuckled a tad wearily. “Wouldn’t _that_ be something? Having _two_ padawans to teach and guide and influence? I can barely keep up with Rey. And time has proved that I am _not_ the best of teachers. But I’m all the Jedi have left.” Shaking his head, Skywalker closed his eyes and leaned his forehead on his cybernetic arm which was holding his staff.

 

In that moment, he looked . . . _old_. And Finn couldn’t help but feel a little . . . sorry for him. Granted, the man was an asshole, but Finn supposed there was a reason for everything. Skywalker probably hadn’t been born an asshole, but experience and circumstance had certainly done a fine job of shaping him into one.

 

Putting away his momentary pity for Skywalker, Finn pinched the bridge of his nose. It did nothing to stave off the beginnings of a headache, but it _did_ remind him he’d sought out Skywalker for a reason, and it wasn’t to hear about the other man’s problems. It was to start solving his own.

 

“So,” Finn exhaled, not even remotely sure where to start. His mouth, apparently stuck on automatic, asked the first coherent question that popped into his head. “Speaking of other padawans, Rey says you’re going to Yavin 4 to find another Junior Jedi.”

 

Skywalker smiled absently. “That, we are.”

 

“Weird place to go looking.” Finn huffed. “There’s, like, seven people on the entire planet.”

 

“Which’ll make our search for a padawan a lot easier than searching, say someplace like Coruscant,” Skywalker’s smile became a grin.

 

“If you say so.” Finn rolled his eyes again. “Totally not my business where you go to recruit future Jedi. What _is_ my business, I suppose, is what you did to me last night?” He met Skywalker’s gaze and was unable to read it. “You gave me that twig and it made me see things. _Future_ things. Things I could have no way of knowing . . . did you drug me?”

 

“No.”

 

“But you _did_ do something to me?”

 

“After a fashion,” Luke said heavily, leaning back against the wall, his eyes intent and intense, but still unreadable. “Have you ever been able to see clearly things that haven’t happened yet, but you know exactly how they’ll turn out?”

 

Frowning, Finn nodded once. “Yes. Who hasn’t? It’s called _déjà vu_. Or common sense. If someone’s walking toward the edge of a cliff that they can’t see, knowing that they’re going to fall to their death isn’t anything special. It’s just common sense.”

 

“True. But did you ever see someone walking toward that cliff and know that something would turn them away at the last second?” When Finn frowned even more deeply, Skywalker nodded. “And have you ever _been_ the something that turned them away at the last second? Have you ever been the intervention that saved a life? Changed a future?”

 

Refusing to answer, Finn looked away. Skywalker nodded again, as if he had answers, anyway.

 

“Have you ever been able to look at someone, or even something, and see its past, present, and future? Have you ever changed or been tempted to change the future for the better?”

 

“No,” Finn lied without knowing why he did, never minding the moment he’d seen Poe strapped in Kylo Ren’s torture chair, barely conscious, bloody, and limp as a ragdoll . . . he’d seen, in that moment, the place where Poe Dameron’s songs all ended. At least if no one intervened.

 

But the moment Finn had touched Poe’s forearm to assist him in getting out of the chair, a thousand-thousand songs had suddenly bloomed, each demanding his attention, before actual reality—in the form of one of his fellow Stormtroopers asking if he was alright—had shaken him free of songs and back into the very dangerous reality in which he’d found himself.

 

But he and Poe had escaped the First Order, after a fashion. Separately, as it turned out, but escaped nonetheless, each believing the other dead. Then Finn had met Rey—had even had prolonged contact with her, via some frightened hand-holding—the first person he’d touched in years, beside Poe. Though there had been so much going on that he’d not noticed what her songs sounded like or how many there were. He’d been too busy running for his life and dragging her with him.

 

But since waking up from that Kylo Ren-induced coma, Finn hadn’t heard or seen any songs in his head—hadn’t seen any futures or been tempted to change anything in them.

 

It’d been _bliss_ , and he’d thought the bad old days were finally _over_. That he didn’t have to fear making the wrong choice in reaction to someone’s song. That he didn’t have to walk around being extra careful not to touch bare skin—even just a brush of the hand—or not have prolonged eye-contact, because even just _that_ had set it off when he was a kid.

 

But now, after eight months . . . six, if one didn’t count the coma . . . _it_ was back.

 

And it was all Luke Skywalker’s fault.

 

“I know what you're thinking, Finn,” Skywalker said tiredly. “You blame me for the return of a gift—or curse you’d thought cured.”

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Finn said quietly, stubbornly. Skywalker chuckled.

 

“Is that so?” he shrugged. “Well, then, I suppose you wouldn’t want to learn how to control that curse, which is definitely _not_ roaming around free in your life and devastating everything you . . . touch.”

 

Finn’s mouth dropped open in a gape. “You . . . you know a way to _control_ it? I mean—if I _did_ have something like what you’re talking about . . . you’d know how to control it?”

 

Skywalker nodded, his eyes shining with a bright, acquisitive light.

 

“Would . . . would, uh, you know how to get rid of it for keeps?” Finn asked hopefully.

 

“There are no such lessons for getting rid of a talent bestowed upon one by the Force, Finn. There’s only controlling the talent and using it with compassion and restraint.” Skywalker looked down. “Something that, if you learn to become detached from your emotions, I think you’ll be able to do.”

 

“But I don’t _want_ to be detached from my emotions and I don’t want to _use_ this . . . _talent_. I just want my life back!” Finn exclaimed, his arms tightening around himself. He just couldn’t get warm! “Can you help me do that? Get my life with Poe back?”

 

Skywalker was frowning, his eyes strangely sad and unusually kind. “But you haven’t even started your life with Poe, yet. The wedding was just yesterday evening, Finn.”

 

“You know what I mean, Skywalker.” Finn glared, though there were tears in his eyes. “For me, that wedding was _thirty years ago_. I married a man who needed to _be_ _married_ to inherit land.  _That_ was his first priority, _not_ love. And I didn’t even . . . I was too stupid and young to understand that in the end, that would be all he cared about, really. Despite declarations of love, the Poe Dameron you know would _never_ have married _me_ just for love. Or, I suppose in his case, _like_.”

 

Turning away from the terrible compassion in Skywalker’s eyes—complain though he had about Skywalker’s assholish side, this other side, the human side, was _at_ _least_ as unbearable. Maybe more so—Finn blinked until tears fell, then surreptitiously wiped his face. “The Poe I met in the future was different. He was mature and he had his priorities straight. He put his family first. He _loved_ me and _I_ loved _him_. As I always had.”

 

“And who do you think helped him straighten out his priorities? Who do you think taught him how to love truly and selflessly . . . through example, if nothing else?” Skywalker asked, standing up with a small grunt of effort. “The things you love so much about Poe Dameron are the things he will never learn without you to teach him.”

 

Finn turned to look at Skywalker. The Jedi had somehow gotten almost touching-distance close without making a sound. “Don’t be so ready to abandon the life you have here, for a future in which your doppelganger had to _die_ before Poe realized just how much he loved him.”

 

Finn looked away again. “That’s—I don’t believe you.”

 

Skywalker snorted. “There seems to be a lot of that going around, lately.”

 

“And even if what you said is true . . . the only thing that matters is the end result: Poe Dameron loves me and I love him. And . . . I don’t see all his futures every time I touch him,” Finn added quietly. “I don’t see him getting beaten or burned, crashing or losing life support, getting caught by the First Order and reprogrammed like a faulty droid. I don’t see futures where our son either doesn’t exist, or died young. I don’t see the all-too-rare happily ever after futures, where he dies in my arms of old age. I don’t see any of it.” Finn turned an inescapably teary glance on Skywalker. “Please, Sky—Luke, _please_. If there’s any way to get me back to Poe, say you’ll help me?”

 

Skywalker’s brows drew together and he looked down. “How-ever did you survive in the First Order with such a sensitivity . . . and such a talent?”

 

Finn sighed. “I don’t know what you mean by sensitivity, but . . . it’s the First Order. Touching others outside of readiness training or combat training is a punishable offense. So not touching others was a piece of cake.” Though Finn couldn’t help but remember the time _FN-2003_ had touched _him_. Finn had been so shocked and dismayed that he hadn’t noticed the usual onslaught of possibilities opening up in his mind, like the unfurling of a rose with a blight at its heart. . . .

 

Carefully tamping down that memory—this was neither the time, the place, nor the person—Finn cleared his throat and turned to face Skywalker again. “Why do I even have this ability? How did the First Order not find out and re-educate me for their own ends?”

 

Smiling a little Skywalker spread his hands peaceably. “You hid it very well. Circumstance was on your side.” Pausing, Skywalker turned away from Poe, making his way back to the benches. Reluctantly, Finn followed and sat after the Jedi was seated. “And Sight-walking is an uncommon talent among the Jedi—unheard of, among the Sith.”

 

“Sight-walking? So, it has a name other than: _goddamn fucking pox on my head_?”

 

Skywalker laughed. “That, it does. And really, it’s a combination of two rare talents among the Force-sensitive: ForeSight and spirit-walking.”

 

Finn frowned. “So . . . is that why I can Sight-walk? Because I’m . . . Force-sensitive?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“So this would’ve happened anyway if you hadn’t done . . . whatever it was that you did to me?” Finn asked. Skywalker sighed.

 

“I don’t know for sure. I do know that the sprig from the Force-tree I care for opened your mind up—blasted the door wide open and knocked down the wall you’d erected between yourself and your talent.” Skywalker glanced at Finn, his gaze solemn and candid. “Please, believe that it was not my intent to . . . cause you harm, even inadvertently, but to give you a taste of the power you could wield, and the good you could do with it. My every instinct screamed that giving you the twig was the right thing to do. That once your eyes were opened you’d . . . well. I imagined a rather different scenario than the one that happened.”

 

Finn’s jaw dropped. “You’re telling me you wrecked my life over a—a hunch?!”

 

Skywalker shook his head. “More than a hunch, Finn.”

 

“Well, _whatever_ you’re calling it, it didn’t pan out!”

 

“I’m not so sure about that?” Skywalker said softly. Finn sat back as if he’d been slapped.

“What do you mean, you’re not so sure about that?”

 

Skywalker heaved another weary sigh. “Exactly what I said, Finn. I’m not so certain that my so-called hunch didn’t pan-out. After all, I’ve found a strong Sight-walker and reunited him with his suppressed talent. That’s no small victory.”

 

Now Finn rolled his eyes. “Yeah, because it’s so fucking useful and wonderful a talent to have,” he snarked bitterly, running a hand over his hair. “There has to be some way this . . . ability can be stuffed back down so that I don’t . . . _See_ things. At least accidentally. There has to be a valve that I can turn off so that I’m not Seeing people’s futures every time I brush an arm in a crowded hall?”

 

Skywalker nodded. “As I’ve said, I am more than willing to teach you basic control skills—meditations and visualization that will help you—but I don’t know how well they’ll work to suppress the talent within you. Now that it’s had a chance to . . . roam freely, so to speak, stuffing it back in the box completely will be next to impossible. The Force is _very_ strong within you, Finn.”

 

Finn leaned his forearms on his knees, hands dangling between them. “If I . . . if I went back to my life with Poe . . . would I take this ability with me? Would I . . . would I see _his_ future every time I touched him?”

 

“I don’t know for sure, Finn,” the Jedi admitted. “You didn’t last time, so there’s something to be said for that. However . . . the power is growing stronger in you—exponentially so, now that’s been acknowledged and even used, after a fashion. It has found a true home within you, and it will not give that home up.”

 

Finn groaned and buried his face in his hands. “This is . . . fucking _insane_!”

 

“That’s one word for it.”

 

“Look, can’t you just help me go back _now_? Save us both time and frustration?”

 

“I could. However, you’ve made a promise to Poe, have you not?”

 

And with that, Finn remembered: Poe’s inheritance. Yavin 4.

 

_Poe_.

 

Not _his_ Poe . . . but _a_ Poe. And a friend, nevertheless. One to whom Finn had promised his time and presence.

 

Groaning again, Finn sat up, exhaling heavily. He didn’t look at Skywalker. “Alright. Can you teach me what I need to know to control this wonderful talent—within a galactic standard week?”

 

“I can teach all you want. The _learning_ is up to _you_.”

 

“Goddamn Jedis,” Finn mumbled under his breath. “Okay. You teach me how to control and suppress this thing, then, when Poe’s got his land, I make my exit.”

 

“That sounds like a plan, indeed,” Skywalker agreed pleasantly, his gaze flicking over Finn’s shoulder for a moment. “But you’ve forgotten one relatively important thing.”

 

“And what’s that?” Finn asked warily.

 

“Me,” a soft voice said, just as a hand settled on Finn’s left shoulder, squeezing gently before sliding around him. Finn started as someone sat directly next to him, then frowned. He didn’t even have to look to know who it was. Not after thirty years of sharing space and so many other things with that body, if not exactly with the man who occupied it.

 

“How long have you been here?” Finn asked, trying to gently pull away from Poe. But that would, of course, leave him closer than he cared to be to Luke Skywalker. And anyway, Poe wasn’t letting go so easily. His arm around Finn tightened in response to Finn trying to move away.

 

“Long enough,” Poe said softly, stroking Finn’s arm. “Aren’t you even gonna _look_ at me, sweetheart?”

 

“I know very well what you look like, Poe Dameron,” Finn said coolly, though he shivered from the proximity of his husband, and the familiar, long-missed _sweetheart_ that came with it. “Stop mauling me!”

 

Poe sighed, and stopped his stroking of Finn’s arm. “Sweetheart—”

 

“And don’t— _don’t call_ me that!”

 

“Why not? You have something against aptly applied pet names?” Finn finally glanced at Poe. Despite the casual tone of his voice, his face and eyes more somber than Finn had ever seen them. In fact, he looked more like the Poe Finn had spent thirty years with than the Poe Finn had barely known for six months.

 

It was discombobulating, to say the least. So Finn pulled decisively out from under Poe’s arm and stood up. “You’re all packed, right?” he asked in a brusque, businesslike voice. Poe blinked, confused.

 

“What?”

 

“For Yavin 4. You know. Our . . . honeymoon.”

 

“Oh, that!” Poe grinned his most charming grin, but with those somber eyes, it wasn’t quite believable. “Yeah, BB-8 packed for me already.”

 

Finn snorted. “Figures. Well, I’m packed, too. I guess all that’s left to do is get our bags and see if Chewbacca’ll mind two extra passengers and a droid on the Falcon.” Finn’s gaze shifted to Skywalker, who looked amused for some reason. “I don’t speak Wookie, so I guess I’ll leave that to you.”

 

Skywalker nodded and, with a final glance at Poe—who was still grinning his charming grin . . . though it looked a bit frayed around the edges—Finn turned and stalked out of the smelly range.

 

It wasn’t until he was outside the cement building that he exhaled and leaned back against the doorpost, waiting for the stinging behind his eyes to subside.

 

#

 

Once Finn was gone, closing the soundproof door behind him, Poe exhaled long and slow, hanging his head.

 

“That went well. Considering,” Skywalker said cheerily. Poe groaned.

 

“You _would_ think that.”

 

Luke patted Poe’s shoulder. “How long were you _actually_ standing there?”

 

Poe laughed, short and harsh. “Like, five seconds. Why? What did I miss?”

 

“Oh, so much.” Luke sighed, and stood up laboriously and Poe watched him walk over to the waist-high ledge that lead to the gallery. “You’ve got a lot of work ahead of you, kiddo. Work that I don’t envy.”

 

“What do you mean?” Poe asked, then laughed. “Oh, you mean against old man-me? Please.”

 

Luke’s brows furrowed and he shook his head, moving toward the door. “The fact that you can’t see that your older doppelganger has Finn’s heart at least as much as you do, says to me that you have absolutely _no_ _chance_ of winning the tug of war for your husband.”

 

Frowning, Poe stood, following Luke’s slow progress to the door. “Old man-me _can’t_ win—he doesn’t even _exist_ , yet! And even if he did exist, he’s _me_! Just older and more run-down. I could kick his ass in my sleep!”

 

“You’d be better off learning from his example.”

 

“Are you kidding me? What’s there to learn? I already _know_ what he knows because _he’s me_! Or _I’m him_ —one or the other!” Poe held the door open for Luke, who walked through with a murmured, “thanks.”

 

“Yeah, no problem—look, why would Finn want some fever-dream version of me, when he could have the _real_ me?”

 

Luke glanced over at Poe disbelievingly. “Why would Finn want the Poe with whom he’d spent thirty years of his life—who was responsible and caring and mature—who knew not only how to take care of himself, but others, too? The Poe who was a responsible, settled man? Who was a successful single parent for six years before Finn came along? And who put his family above everything else? Why would Finn want a man like _that_?”

 

Poe scowled. “I’m that man! We’re the same person, just—one of us is older and more boring.”

 

Luke groaned, covering his eyes with his flesh-hand. “Poe—you’re making it really difficult to root for you. Arrogance and ignorance often go hand in hand, but that fact doesn’t make them more attractive. Only less.”

 

“What does _that_ mean?”

 

“It means . . . your rival is an older, smarter, more mature version of you. He’s got all your charm and know-how, plus thirty years more experience at wielding them Thirty years that he spent with _your_ husband of not even thirty hours. And Finn . . . isn’t just the young man you married, anymore. _He’s_ also gained thirty years of life experience, love, and commitment. In his mind—in his heart and soul—he’s not the same person you loved. Not exactly. He’s grown and changed in ways that you, as you are, cannot understand.”

 

Poe angrily listened to this with ears that seemed to burn. It felt as if all the blood in his body had rushed north, to his face and head. “How is that even possible? He was only gone for—three hours! Maybe less! I still can’t wrap my head around how three hours equals thirty years. And even if it does . . . even if it does, I’m still the man Finn married.”

 

“Hmm. And are you certain that’s who you want to be?” Off Poe’s confused look, Luke shook his head. “The man Finn married is a man who’s never been in a committed relationship, who can’t even pack his own luggage for his own honeymoon, and who is only going on said honeymoon because he married his best friend to hold onto land that he hasn’t even seen in fifteen years. Is _that_ the Poe you want to be? The one that neither Finn—nor anyone with a dram of common sense—would trust with their heart?”

 

Poe hung his head. “You’re making it sound worse than it is—you’re catastrophizing my relationship with Finn. We were doing good ‘til _you_ showed up.”

 

“Were you?”

 

“Yes, damnit!” Poe strode ahead a few paces, then stopped. “We were gonna go to Yavin 4, get all that straightened out, then come back here and . . . and—”

 

“And get a divorce as soon as it was safe to?”

 

“No! I mean—maybe,” Poe threw his hands up in exasperation. “I dunno. I mean, if I was ever _gonna_ settle down with someone, it’d be someone like Finn—”

 

“ _Someone_ _like_ Finn?” Luke quirked an eyebrow. “How romantical of you to say so. Have you actually said that to Finn?”

 

“I—maybe . . . maybe not. Uh. . . .” Poe sighed. “What, now I have to actively keep track of _everything_ I say to him?”

 

“If you’re being sincere, you won’t have to _actively_ keep track. You’ll _remember_ every _I love you_ and every pledge of body, heart, and soul.” Luke searched Poe’s face for long moments. “You can’t just enter into a relationship willy-nilly, Poe. You have to recognize that there are hearts—even _lives_ at stake. Looking at it that way—which, I assure you, Finn does—can’t you see why he’d rather take his chances with a man who not only talked the talk of pledging the rest of his life to him, but has also, for thirty years, _walked the walk_?”

 

Poe threw his hands up again, this time in frustration. “Well, it sounds like I can’t even _compete_ with old man-me, so what’s the point in trying?”

 

Luke smiled, wry and a little sad. “Well there’s something to be said for being the underdog. That’s who I always root for, personally. When someone or something has nothing left to lose, they fight much harder—and smarter—to get somewhere.”

 

Poe laughed miserably. “No one’s ever called _me_ an underdog before.”

 

“Because you’ve only ever stood to lose once in your life. But you’ve made certain you were _never_ in that position again. Until now. And boy, did you pick a doozy of a potential loss.” Luke’s smile widened for a moment, unusual in its commiseration and kindness. “You may wind up losing something you never even had, really.”

 

“Then what do I do, if I’m already losing so bad to a me who doesn’t yet exist?” Poe demanded, turning to shuffle down the hall to the exit. “I’ve never had to work at any kind of relationship in my entire life— _not even_ romantic ones. Everything’s always just fallen into my lap at the right time—guys, missions, contacts, commendations . . . even Finn. It’s like he already belonged to me, and all I had to do was reach out and take him . . . just another gift from the universe.”

 

“Well,” Luke called from some distance behind Poe, who had paused just beyond the door sensor’s range. “My suggestion to you—and take this with a grain of salt since, between you and me, I’m talking out of my ass—is that you spend the next galactic standard week subtlely being everything Finn’s ever wanted in a man.”

 

“How the Hell would I know what _Finn’s_ wanted in a man? We’ve never talked about that kind of thing before!” Poe exclaimed. As Luke drew even with him, then moved past him, the door to the range opened. “Wait—you seem like you know what he wants in a guy—couldn’t you just _tell me_ so I could act like that and win him back?”

 

“I’ve _already_ told you, Poe—and I don’t doubt that Finn, himself, has inadvertently told you. If you listened more carefully, you’d already have a pretty good idea of what Finn’s yearning for. Straight from the horse’s mouth.” Luke accused, then went on in a vaguely offended fashion. “And if you’re only _acting_ like someone he might want, you’ll _never_ get him. You must be _sincere_. You have to _be_ the person he wants, not _act_ like him. _Be_ the Poe Dameron he needs and do it fairly soon.”

 

“How?!” Poe followed Luke out into the warm weather. “I’ve got one week to turn into some version of me I’ve never even met, when it took _that_ version of me _thirty years_ to be everything Finn’s wanted—that’s . . . not fair!”

 

“ _Life_ isn’t fair. And neither is _love_.” Luke’s voice was hard and not especially kind. Then he sighed and muttered to himself, elbowing Poe pointedly. “At any rate, you _might_ try being more thoughtful. One can never go wrong putting the considerations of others first, every once in a while. Especially when there’s a courtship on the line.”

 

“A _what_?”

 

Luke huffed. “You heard me. You’re going to have to court your husband to win him back. On the plus side, you know your rival, and he’s not here to sabotage or outshine you. On the minus side . . . your rival kinda doesn’t _have_ to be here to sabotage you, because so far, you’re doing a bang-up job of sabotaging yourself, so to speak. And thirty years of love and commitment will always outshine insincere charm. At least if the courted has any sense at all. Finn strikes me as a fairly practical young man.”

 

“You—you give the absolute _worst_ pep-talks I’ve ever heard!” Poe all but yelled. Luke grinned.

 

“So I’ve been told. Though this has actually been one of the better ones, I think,” he said, sounding far too amused for Poe’s liking. “C’mon. Let’s go see a Wookie about transportation to Yavin 4.”

 

TBC


	10. The Plan 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt (http://tfa-kink.dreamwidth.org/1082.html?thread=51770#cmt51770): They go on a mission where they have to pretend to be married! Complete with sharing a room with only one bed, having to act affectionate towards each other, and all those wonderful fake marriage tropes.
> 
> Bonus points if they already have secret feelings for each other and it makes everything even more awkward at first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes/Warnings: Vague spoilers for Episode VII.

After securing transport for himself, Finn, and BB-8, Poe hurried back to his quarters to grab his duffel.

 

He didn’t expect to see Rey standing there, holding up the wall opposite the door, looking like she’d been there for a week and was willing to wait a week more.

 

“Hey,” he said warily, unlocking his door and waving her into his quarters ahead of him. She entered the cluttered space, looking around curiously. “What can I do for you?”

 

“Actually, it’s not what you can do for me, but what I can do for you.” Rey turned to face Poe, smiling a little. “I doubt you remember, but last night, Master Luke gave you a book for Finn, as you were leaving General Organa’s office. After the medics took him to the infirmary, I noticed it was laying on the floor, forgotten.” Rey dug in one of the pockets of her cloak and pulled out an old-style book, neither thick nor wide, and held it out to Poe.

 

He sighed, shaking his head. “Why don’t you just give it Finn?”

 

“Because Master Luke meant for _you_ to give it to him, not _me_.”

 

“Yeah, I’m sure Master Luke meant for a lot of things to happen that didn’t.” Sighing again, Poe took the book—it felt strange in his hand, and ancient—glancing at the title as he did so. “ _The Jedi Path: A Manual for Students of the Force_ , eh? _Why_ would he want _me_ to give Finn this book?”

 

Rey shrugged. “I don’t know. He must’ve thought it’d be better coming from someone Finn loves, rather than from a stranger.”

 

“No, I don’t mean _that_ , I mean—why is he giving a book on the Force to Finn?” Poe asked, stepping past Rey and over a small pile of dirty clothes, to get to his bed, on which the duffel sat, surely seconds from tipping over. Poe caught it and, after a moment’s thought, shoved the book in under his clothes. “I thought Jedi kept that shit secret and safe.”

 

“We do . . . unless we come across a Force-sensitive person who needs all the theory and understanding they can get their hands on.” Rey paused and waited till Poe had swung the duffel over his shoulder and stepped past her again. “After all that’s happened over the past twelve hours, I think you know why Master Luke would give this book to Finn.”

 

Poe snorted. “Are you kidding me? I don’t know anything, anymore, when it comes to Finn.”

 

“But you know you love him, right?” Rey asked, following Poe to the door and back out to the hall. When the door closed behind them, Poe locked it.

 

“Right?” Rey demanded pointedly. It was long moments till Poe could meet her direct gaze.

 

“I love the man I married yesterday,” he said finally, turning away from her. “More than anything. Whether he still loves me is up for debate.”

 

 “I don’t think Finn is as fickle of heart as you seem to think,” Rey reassured Poe kindly, putting a hand on his shoulder. “That’s just newlywed jitters. The fact is, nothing could change the way Finn feels about you in twelve hours.”

 

Poe snorted. “Luke obviously hasn’t been keeping you up on recent events,” he muttered bitterly. Rey frowned, but kept pace with Poe when he started down the hall, toward the main hangar.

 

“What recent events? More recent than Finn going Sight-walking in his own future?”

 

“Yup.” Poe laughed mirthlessly. “It’s kind’ve a lot to take in. I’ll let Luke tell you. He understands it better than I do, anyway. In the meantime,” he said, elbowing Rey’s arm. “Looks like we’re all going to Yavin 4 together.”

 

Rey’s light-brown eyes widened. “No _way_!”

 

“ _Yes_ , way!” Poe chuckled again, this time a little less ruefully. “Luke and Finn both thought it’d be a good chance for Finn to learn to control his Sight-walking.”

 

“Hmm. . . .” Rey frowned thoughtfully. “Well, it shouldn’t take more than a day to get to Yavin 4, and after that, we’ll be staying for a few days before we’re up and off to . . . wherever Master Luke’s taking us next.” Out of the depths of that frown came a bright smile. “That should be enough time to at least make certain Finn know the basics about wielding such a talent.”

 

“But he doesn’t _want_ to _wield_ it, only control it so that he’s not spazzing out every time he sees someone’s future,” Poe said, and Rey’s eyebrows lifted and furrowed doubtfully.

 

“The Force doesn’t work that way, Poe. Once it’s used, the person who wields it will find more reasons to do so. And if they reach a point where they can control how much of it they use and when . . . by that point, there’s no turning back.”

 

“No turning back from _what_?” Poe demanded and Rey was the one to sigh, this time.

 

“What do you think _from what_?” She smiled sadly. “What do we call a person who can use the Force with both control and dexterity?”

 

 _Jedi_ , Poe’s heart whispered, and he groaned, closing his eyes briefly. “Just because he’s Force-sensitive doesn’t mean he can or should or _would_ _want_ to be a Jedi.”

 

“Not necessarily. But he can tap into the Force to wield a lightsaber like he was born doing so. He can tap into the Force to See the future— _his own_ future, which, from what Master Luke told me, is pretty impossible—and actively participate in and change the future he Sees.” Rey sighed once more. “The more control he gains, the more _power_ he’ll gain. And the more he’ll want—no, _need_ to use that power to affect change for the better. Whether the changes are big or small.”

 

Poe shook his head. “No, I can’t see that. Finn— _my_ Finn, my _husband_ —running around with a _lightsaber_ , trying to change the universe one future at a time?” He rolled his eyes. “Finn’s not the type.”

 

“Oh, isn’t he?” Rey smiled. “What do you call what he did by leaving the First Order? Because of him defecting— _directly_ because of it—the galaxy was saved . . . for the most part. He saved us all, by changing one future at a time. His, mine, and _yours_.”

 

Poe slowed to a stop, gazing at Rey with as much doubt as she’d shown not two minutes ago.

 

“No one person could have such a major effect on . . . _everything_? _Could_ they?”

 

“ _I_ believe so . . . and so does Master Luke.” Rey shrugged and started walking again. Poe caught up to her after a few moments of thought.

 

“So . . . what you’re saying is Finn is a Jedi?”

 

“Potentially, yes.”

 

“Why only _potentially_?”

 

“Well, it’s his choice to train beyond basic control of his abilities.” Rey sighed again. “No one can _make_ someone become a Jedi, or force them to use their powers for the common good. That goes against every notion of free will the Jedi hold dear.”

 

That much, at least, Poe _did_ know. “So, if he decides he wants to become one of the Lightsaber Brigade, what then? What about our marriage?”

 

Rey winced. “That I don’t know. Jedi aren’t supposed to form personal attachments of any kind, let alone marriage . . . and yet, I don’t think Master Luke would turn Finn away just for being married. In fact, he seems to be quite in favor of your marriage to Finn.”

 

“And why would _that_ be?”

 

Rey chuckled. “I don’t know for sure—I can’t read Master Luke’s mind . . . yet . . . but maybe it’s because you give Finn hope—you _are_ his hope—and you give him focus and a clear reason to master control of the worst in himself.”

 

Poe looked down at his feet, swallowing around what felt like his heart. “I don’t think I’m as important to him as you seem to believe.”

 

“Of course you are!” Rey took Poe’s arm as they stepped out into the main hangar. “He loved you enough to _marry_ you—I could see how happy he was, how eager, when _I_ gave him away. Not that he wasn’t already yours, heart and soul.”

 

Poe couldn’t hold back the bitter laugh that erupted out of him. “The man Finn loves doesn’t even exist, yet,” he muttered, and Rey looked over at him, confused

 

“What was that?”

 

“Nothing,” Poe dismissed, scowling to himself. “I just wish _I_ could See the future. Everything’s so up in the air, now, and I don’t even know where I goddamn _stand_ with Finn or where we’re _going_. I mean—this started out so simple, so . . . goal-oriented and purposeful, and then . . . I started _feeling_ things and—and—Maker help me, he was so innocent and earnest and trusting . . . and he looked at me like I hung the moon and stars. Like I was the only person in the universe for him . . . like I was the only person he’d _ever_ love. And then . . . everything changed. Now, he won’t even look at me, period—let alone touch me. Or let _me_ touch _him_.”

 

Rey’s eyes widened. “Huh. Me neither. I noticed that earlier, the non-touching thing, and—”

 

“Wait—why were _you_ trying to touch _my_ husband?” Poe demanded, jealousy moving through him like a scalding tsunami. Rey rolled her eyes.

 

“Oh, don’t get your flight-suit twisted, Commander Dameron.” Rey leaned against his arm for a moment. “He’s my best friend—we’re occasionally going to touch. It happens, get over it. _Anyway_ —I noticed that, too, and I wondered about it. . . .”

 

Poe felt some of his frustration lessen—though his jealousy was taking it’s sweet little ol’ time leaving—as sudden understanding hit him. “Maybe . . . maybe he’s being like that with everyone?” he ventured hopefully. “Maybe . . . maybe touching people makes it easier for him to see their futures—I mean, there has to be a catalyst, right? It’s not all just coming at him randomly. What if it’s through touch that he _Sees_ what he Sees, and every time he _touches_ someone . . . he gets treated to a glimpse into their future.”

 

“Hmm . . . that _does_ make sense.” Rey nodded slowly, thoughtfully. “Unless it _is_ completely random—which I doubt—there has to be a common catalyst between you and me. And we have nothing in common but flying and Finn. . . .”

 

Poe closed his eyes for a few moments. Remembered earlier that morning, Finn flinching away from his hand . . . he’d thought Finn disgusted, but on recalling that memory, the dominant emotion in Finn’s voice, and the way he was shaking oh, so slightly. . . .

 

It’d been _fear_ , not disgust.

 

“. . . seemed almost afraid, the way he darted away from me,” Rey was saying, sounding puzzled. Then she shook her head sadly. “Can you imagine what that must be like? Never being able to touch someone without Seeing into their futures?”

 

“Actually . . . I _can’t_ imagine,” Poe said softly. “I’m kind of _glad_ I can’t . . . but I wish I could take the burden from Finn. He doesn’t deserve to have this happen to him after all he’s been through. He deserves—” stopping dead in his tracks, Poe looked back the way they’d come, frowning. “He deserves to not have to worry about every person he shakes hands with or every lock-panel he touches.”

 

“I agree,” Rey said, stopping, too, but only because Poe had. She tugged on his arm irritably. “What’s the hold-up? The Falcon’s right over there, Poe. C’mon.”

 

“I, uh . . . I forgot something. I gotta go back. Here—” shoving his duffel at Rey who took it with a questioning look. “Could you stow that on the Falcon for me, and tell the others I’ll be along in, like, twenty minutes? Thanks!”

 

And with that, Poe was running back through the hangar and toward the main base, leaving Rey to stand there, holding his duffel. After a few moments, her nostrils flared and she called after Poe: “Bloody hell, did you pack nothing but dirty laundry?”

 

#

 

“. . . and he said he’d be back in about twenty minutes,” Rey was saying as Finn poked his head into the cockpit. She was in the pilot’s chair, flicking switches and checking gauges like an old hand. Chewbacca, in the co-pilot’s seat, was doing the same.

 

In response to Rey’s statement, the Wookie gargled or growled or _something_ ed and Rey laughed. “Well, at least his dirty laundry’s aboard. He’d never let us leave with his stinky old civvies and skivvies.”

 

“Hey, what’s going on, guys?” Finn said, and Rey glanced back at him, grinning.

 

“What’s going on is your hubby is off running a last-minute errand and we’re all ready to go!” She laughed again and turned back to the Falcon’s instrument panel. Finn smiled a little. Nothing seemed to make Rey as happy as flying. In that way, she was just like Poe.

 

Poe. . . .

 

“What errand?” Finn asked casually. Rey shrugged.

 

“Beats me—but it must’ve been pretty important.”

 

“Oh, really?” Knowing how forgetful Poe could be about everything—big or small—not related to a mission, Finn smirked. “And what makes you say that?”

 

“Well, for one thing he was reminded of it while we were talking about little ol’ _you_. Ergo, it _must_ be important if he associates it with you.”

 

Finn blushed . . . then scowled. “Wait—you two were _talking_ about _me_? Why?”

 

Rey grinned back at him. “Just talking about the relatively few things we have in common. Aside from a love of oxygen, there’s piloting and you . . . that’s it, really.”

 

Finn rolled his eyes. “Well, what _about_ me?”

 

Chewbacca gurgled something out that made Rey snort. “Yes, he’s very nosy.”

 

“Hey—I’m not—look, the thought of you guys talking about me is just— _weird_. So don’t do it.”

 

“Well, I honestly don’t see it becoming a trend, Finn. You’re really not _that_ interesting a topic.”

 

“Damn right, I—hey!”

 

Rey and Chewbacca laughed, and Finn glared at them both. “I guess I’ll just leave you two comedians to your piloting and snickering.”

 

“We’ll try not to talk about you in your absence!” Rey called as Finn turned to make his way to the common area. “Though it’ll be tough!”

 

Chewbacca added his agreement by way of gargling Wookie-laughter.

 

Glowering all the way to the common area, Finn wondered if it was too late to switch ships. Any other ship would do, really.

 

Grumbling, he flopped down on a couch right in front of the holo and turned it on. It was playing that same show with the fighting Saurians it’d been showing the other times he’d been aboard.

 

 _That is one weird Wookie_ , Finn had thought the first time. He thought it again, now. Not that he had any experience with Wookies who weren’t Chewbacca, but something about the Wookie—one who liked hanging around with Humans—struck Finn as plain odd. He sensed there was a story, there, and a good one.

 

 _I’ll bet if I touched him for a few seconds, I’d be able to find out his past_ and _his future. . . ._

 

Then the moment passed and Finn was shaking his head. _It’d be wrong if I did it without his permission. Chewbacca’s future is_ his own _business, and his past is certainly none of_ mine _. Anyway, I don’t want to encourage this ability along any more than I already have._

 

Leaning back in the sofa, Finn sighed, wondering what the Hell else there was to do on this trip. It occurred to him that if he and Poe were a _for-real_ married couple, there’d be _plenty_ of things for a pair of newlyweds to do in their bunk. . . .

 

Finn smiled wistfully as his mind traveled back almost thirty years, to his third night in Poe’s home—which would, before the week was even out, become _their_ home—after Poe had put Finny to bed, he’d sought his guest out on the back porch.

 

 _“It’s really beautiful, isn’t it?” Finn asked, staring up at the star-flecked night sky. He couldn’t remember ever seeing this kind of view, before, so panoramic and majestic and . . ._ vast _. The stars had never looked so mysterious and eternal when he was on board the—_

_And there, Finn’s memory shut down. Rather, it hit a wall beyond which he had no interest in seeing._

_“It certainly is,” Poe agreed softly, and when Finn looked around, Poe was staring at him so intently, it made the younger man blush and look back up at the stars wheeling overhead. “The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”_

_Finn smiled a little to himself. “Are we still talking about the night sky?”_

_“I didn’t realize we ever had been.”_

_Cue another blush from Finn, this one almost painful. Poe laughed. “I can practically_ hear _you blushing, Finn.”_

_“I am_ not _blushing.”_

_Another laugh. “Anyone ever tell you you can’t lie for shit?”_

_Finn turned his back on the stars and leaned on the porch railing. Poe was standing in the open doorway, leaning on the left-hand doorpost. “The only person I know who’d be rude enough to call someone out on a white lie would be_ you _.”_

_“Ah,” Poe put his right hand up over his heart and stepped onto the porch proper. “You wound me.”_

_“Hmm . . . somehow, I doubt that.”_

_“Well, you shouldn’t,” Poe drifted closer, then closer, still, until he could bracket Finn’s body with his arms, his hands braced on the porch railing. “Other than my mother, you were the only one who ever could. Wound me, that is.”_

_“Oh, really?” Finn rolled his eyes. “And how have I wounded you lately, Mr. Dameron?”_

_Some of the humor and spark went out of Poe’s eyes and he looked down, his smile turning wry and sad. Finn instantly realized that they were treading on territory they’d tacitly—unspokenly—agreed not to tread on. “Look, I’m sorry, I should think before I speak—”_

_“No—you didn’t do anything wrong, it’s just . . . me. Just my memories.” Poe said, looking up again, but his eyes were too shiny, too intense. “And there’s your answer, right there. When you stayed behind to make sure Starkiller II went the way of Starkiller I . . . well, I thought nothing could possibly hurt as much as hearing over the fucking_ radio _that you’d stayed behind. But no,_ that _wasn’t the worst. The absolute worst was seeing that thing explode and knowing, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that you’d still been on it. Nothing before or since has ever hurt as much as that. Not by a long-shot.” Poe smiled a little. “So, I guess I lied. Short of giving your life to save the galaxy—again—nothing you could ever do would wound deeply. Though it might smart a little.”_

_“Poe—”_

_“But I don’t wanna talk about that. Not right now, anyway,” Poe said firmly. “I don’t know how you escaped alive—or even_ if _you escaped alive. For all I know you could be a clone—I heard that the Empire used to use them to fill out their army’s ranks—or a ghost. You could be something so far outside of my knowledge that all my guesses at what you are would be laughable. But I don’t care.” His grin was painful in its brightness, and its insistence that everything was and would be alright. “Do you get that? That it doesn’t matter to me that you don’t remember all things that you should—like the first time we kissed, or the first time we made love . . . or even the first time I broke your heart.”_

_Poe wiped his eyes and that grin softened into a tender smile. “I’m looking at this—at_ you _—as my second chance at having everything a man could ask for. If that means not digging up the past or looking too closely at it . . . I’m down for that, I really am.” He leaned closer to Finn who, wide-eyed, swallowed, and took a deep breath and didn’t look away. “Finn, sweetheart . . . I don’t care what brought you back to me, only that you_ are back _. And I . . . I love you more than ever, more than anything. I just want to_ be _with you. Even if it’s just as your friend—though I’ll tell you right now, that’d I’ve had blue balls for the past three days you’ve been here . . . I can’t imagine the rest of my life like that, though I’d gladly live it if it meant being yours in some capacity.”_

_Finn was gaping, now. “You . . . you_ love _me?”_

_Poe nodded. “More than anything.”_

_Finn cudgeled his unhelpful memory, but couldn’t remember further back than the past three days, except for the moments surrounding Poe’s naming of him. Why he’d had only a number before that moment was a mystery. Why he could only remember_ that particular moment _clearly was an enigma. But Maker help him, Finn was_ glad _that his life before Yavin 4 was such a mystery. It didn’t sound as if it’d been all happy times and laughter and love._

_Not like the past three days had been, at any rate. The last three days had been . . . almost dreamlike in their perfection. Finn hadn’t wanted for anything, be it material or intangible. And despite the sinkhole that was his memory, Finn was sure beyond a doubt that he’d never been this content in his life._

_“Finn, baby,” Poe cupped Finn’s cheek in his hand and looked into his eyes. “I know I just dumped a lot on your plate—and you don’t have to give me an answer now, or tomorrow, or next week, or next year, if you don’t want to. No matter what,_ my _home is_ your _home and if there’s anything you need or want that it’s in my power to give, it’s yours—mmph!”_

_“I want_ you _,” Finn said when he ended the kiss because he needed to come up for air or pass out. He leaned his forehead on Poe’s and smiled shyly as the rough hands that’d settled on his waist moved around to his ass. “I have since the first time I saw you. Since the first time I_ kissed _you. I mean, you know, the first time I saw you and kissed you_ three days ago _.”_

_Poe chuckled. “Yeah, I get what you meant,” he murmured, stealing a brief, sweet kiss before straightening up and pulling Finn flush against him. Poe’s grin was slow and possessive. “Well, it feels like we’re on the same page,” he noted, grinding against Finn, who blushed, and slid his arms around Poe’s neck._

_“I feel like I should warn you that I don’t remember exactly how sex works.” Finn bit his lip worriedly and glanced away from Poe’s amused and questioning look. “I know the mechanics of it, but I don’t have any practical memory of ever having done it. N-not even with you.”_

_This last was said so apologetically, Poe stopped grinning and hugged Finn to him. “Like I said, sweetheart, I don’t care. Your body knows what it wants and what it needs. It’ll tell you what to do . . . and if it doesn’t, then I will. I’ll teach you everything you need to know,” he whispered in Finn’s ear, kissing the lobe before biting it gently. Finn hissed and groaned, melting against Poe._

_Another kiss turned into three, which turned into four, which turned into them stumbling back inside and up the back stairs as quietly as they could, in the hopes of not waking Finny. By the time they reached Poe’s dimly-lit bedroom—relatively neat, where Finn had expected a disaster area—they were beyond foreplay and actually trying to rip each other’s clothes off._

_Neither wanted to let go of the other for long enough to make disrobing easy, however._

_But eventually, there was more clothing on the floor around the bed, than there was on either man. Finn was down to wearing one blue sock and Poe was only half-wearing his favorite t-shirt. They rolled around on Poe’s king-sized bed, laughing and kissing until Poe halted the proceedings to dig in the drawer of the bedside table._

_“What’re you doing?” Finn asked, practically giggling._

_“Looking for lube . . . trust me, you don’t wanna take me dry, or with just spit,” Poe replied, then he made a triumphant noise as he found the tube he was looking for . . . then he looked down at Finn hopefully. “I’m assuming_ you’re _a bottom because I’m a_ top, _and frankly, I wanna be inside you so bad, it’s kinda painful to me that I’m not already. But if I’m way off base, let me know and, uh . . . I guess we’ll go from there. . . .”_

_Finn blinked. “Bottom? Top?”_

_“Yeah. The top, uh, penetrates the bottom.” Poe flushed and his eyebrows shot up. “Meaning—ideally, for me—that_ I _get to penetrate_ you _. Or we could . . . switch it up. I’ve never bottomed before, but there’s a first time for everything, and—”_

_Finn pulled Poe down into a long, hungry kiss that didn’t stop until both of them were doing more panting than kissing._

_“Penetrate me, please, Poe,” Finn said innocently, but desperately. Then: “Penetrate me a_ lot _.”_

_Poe was the one to blink, this time. Then smile wonderingly. “Somehow you just made alliteration and clinical terms sexy.” Shaking his head, Poe retrieved the lube from where it’d fallen on the bed. “Maker above, you’re so fucking gorgeous and perfect, and you don’t even_ know it _.” He teased a kiss from Finn’s lips, pushing Finn’s legs, which were bracketing his own, apart._

_Finn held Poe’s gaze with his own. “Will it . . . hurt much? Being penetrated?”_

_Poe smiled tenderly. “No, it won’t. Because this time . . . this time we’re_ sober _and we’re gonna take it_ slow _.”_

_Which raised all sorts of questions about Poe’s first time with this_ other Finn _. But sensing that’d be something of a boner-slayer, Finn kept his musing to himself and focused, instead, on the intense, just bordering on painful,_ amazing _sensations as Poe stretched and prepared him, all the while kissing and praising him._

_“You ready, sweetheart?” he finally asked, kissing Finn’s temple. “Because_ I _am about to explode.”_

_“Oh,_ Poe _. . . .” Finn exhaled, eyes squinched shut as Poe’s fingers brushed a spot inside him that made his cock—which was harder than it’d ever been . . . in recent memory—somehow get even harder and practically lay flat against his abdomen. “Please,_ yes _. . . now. . . !”_

_“Okay,” Poe breathed, removing his fingers from Finn’s body. Finn whined at the loss. “Okay, but first I need you to open your eyes and look into mine.”_

_Finn obeyed, and what he saw there—hope, yearning, desperation, and_ love _—made his breath catch._

_Poe smiled that tender smile again and kissed the spot between Finn’s eyebrows. “Hello, love,” he whispered, and they both gasped when something wider and blunter than two of Poe’s fingers brushed the entrance to Finn’s body . . . then pushed in with one quick thrust that made them both cry out—Finn with tears in his eyes. . . ._

_“Are you alright, Finn? Sweetheart?”_

 

Finn blinked his tired eyes open and, completely disoriented, bolted up to his feet—nearly crashing into a startled Poe—breathing hard and looking around. He was confused and more than mildly alarmed at his unfamiliar surroundings . . . until memory came crashing down upon him.

 

He’d slipped, however briefly, into a dream-memory. One in which he was happy and loved.

 

In reality—hateful reality—he could only taste the memory of that happiness. That love.

 

 _Does he miss me? Does he know I’m gone?_ Finn thought miserably _. What about Finny—what has Poe told our son about me just . . . disappearing? Do they think I ran out on them? Do they hate me?_

 

Poe was watching him, looking concerned, though he’d taken a few steps back when Finn jumped to his feet.

 

“I woulda let you sleep, but you were moaning in your sleep . . . and crying,” he said softly, and Finn blushed, trying surreptitiously to pull his sweater down to his knees. He was hard enough to pound nails and if anyone would notice, it’d be Poe. He needed to get somewhere private where he could wait out his . . . condition—it wouldn’t be the first time—and then pretend it’d never happened. “Is everything okay?”

 

“Yes! Fine!” Finn claimed stridently. “I’m perfectly fine! I was just dreaming . . . of . . . uh—”

 

Poe smiled wryly, stepping closer, into Finn’s personal space. Finn tried to back up, but his calves hit the sofa.

 

“I know what you were dreaming, Finn,” Poe said, glancing down between them. Finn followed suit, then groaned at the ridiculously prominent hard-on he had, which his sweater did nothing to obscure. He closed his eyes and shook his head.

 

“Look, it’s not what you think—” he stammered out, and Poe chuckled.

 

“You don’t _know_ what I think, sweetheart.” Poe stepped close enough that his boots bumped Finn’s and Finn could feel Poe’s breath on his lips . . . and a sudden, but gentle grip on his erection that made him gasp and shiver. Poe fondled him slowly, surely, as if there was no fabric between his hand and Finn’s cock.

 

“Now, I’m no Force-sensitive Sight-walker, but—” Poe’s grip tightened and his stroking picked up in speed, forcing a high-pitched noise out of Finn’s throat. “—this is _exactly_ what a honeymoon’s supposed to be about. Am I right?”

 

“Poe—”

 

Finn stopped speaking when lips brushed his own. “Please, sweetheart . . . lemme take care of you. . . .” Poe trailed off and his plea became a kiss, soft and sweet, in contrast to the slow-dirty-bad-good stroking of his hand.

 

“I—I can’t. . . .”

 

“Baby, I’ll drop to my knees right now and suck your cock _dry_ ,” Poe whispered in a shuddering, uneven voice. “I’m goin’ crazy just thinking about the way you’ll feel and the way you’ll taste. I wanna feel your hands clench in my hair and the tip of your cock bruising the back of my throat. I want . . . Maker alive, Finn, I _want_. . . .”

 

The backs of Finn’s eyes stung in frustration. “I can’t, Poe . . . I just can’t.”

 

“Look at me, sweetheart.”

 

And that voice, that tone, was so familiar, Finn couldn’t disobey it. He opened his eyes and stared into Poe's hazel ones. They were heated, yes, but also filled with a compassion Finn had only ever seen in Poe’s eyes once upon a Sight-walk.

 

“Is it because when you touch people . . . you See their futures . . . whether you want to or not?”

 

Finn shook his head. “Can’t you just take _no_ for an answer? Ever?”

 

“Not when the stakes are this high, I can’t.” Poe stopped stroking Finn and pulled him closer by his hips. “Tell me, truthfully: if it’s not the Sight-walking, what is it?”

 

“I have to go—” Finn said, trying to pull out of Poe’s grip, but Poe only held him tighter. “Let go of me, Poe.”

 

“Not until you tell me _why_ I’m letting go of you.” Poe’s tone was adamant, and one that, after thirty years of marriage to some version of this man, Finn recognized as immovable. And, as it always had, that tone made Finn quite angry. He set his face in its coldest glare and Poe actually blinked, as if he’d seen a really gripping feat of illusion.

 

“You’re letting go of me because I’m _telling_ you to. And also because . . . I haven’t cheated on my husband _once_ in almost thirty years. I don’t intend to start now. Here. With _you_.” Finn held Poe’s gaze for several seconds before glancing down at the arms holding him. “Let me go.”

 

And Poe . . . let him go.

 

“Thank you,” Finn said politely, stepping around Poe, meaning to exit, stage right. But, standing in the entryway to the common area, was none other than Luke Skywalker, watching them both like they were some fascinating alien artifacts that were otherwise unexplainable.

 

“Uh, hello.” Finn had to fight the urge to tug his sweater down, for it wouldn’t do any good. The only thing to do was to brazen it out. Or just hope Skywalker didn’t look down. “Hi.”

 

“Hi,” Skywalker replied, his questioning gaze darting to Poe, then back to Finn. “Is everything okay, here?”

 

“Of course it is. Why wouldn’t it be?” Poe asked, turning to face Skywalker, not so much as glancing at Finn.

 

“No reason, just throwing it out there. Politeness don’t cost a single credit, you know?”

 

Poe snorted. “My dad says that.”

 

Skywalker smiled a little. “I always thought Kes Dameron was an unusually wise man. . . .”

 

Poe snorted again. “Well, at least someone thinks so. Anyway, I’m gonna see what’s going on in the cockpit. BB-8’s probably driving Rey and Chewie nuts. Oh, uh . . . here, swee—Finn.”

 

Finn looked over to see Poe holding out to him a small burlap bag. Frowning, Finn reluctantly took the bag, careful not to brush their fingers. Poe met his gaze briefly, unreadably, then excused himself, shouldering past Skywalker.

 

The Jedi turned his canny gaze to Finn, giving the younger man an amused once-over. “If you like, we can start your studies now, with a few meditations that’ll make . . . unwanted physical reactions a thing of the past.”

 

His face going up in flames, Finn clutched the bag to himself and stalked out of the common area—this time, Skywalker stepped nimbly aside—mumbling about going to take the first gunner’s station.

 

#

 

Once belted into the only place on a ship that ever felt right, the gunner’s chair—and, as force of habit—making sure everything was properly calibrated and in working order—which it was—he opened the burlap bag and peered inside. . . .

 

A minute of disbelieving staring later and he was sliding on the most comfortable, supple gloves he’d ever worn. They were the kind that automatically adjusted to the size of the wearer’s hand and, as well as being tear-proof and waterproof, they fit like a second skin, sliding on all the way up to mid-forearm.

 

Once they were on, Finn held out his arms and admired them. They looked almost like Kylo Ren’s gloves, only . . . Finn’s were undoubtedly nicer. That was one thing that could be said about Poe Dameron without qualification: he had excellent and effortless fashion sense. The man rarely looked anything less than absolutely smashing.

 

Finn sniffled and blinked, surprised when tears ran down his cheeks. He closed his eyes and all he could see on the backs of them—unlike the parade of smut he’d seen while napping in the common area—was Poe’s broad shoulders, slumped, as he all but ran out of the common area, figurative tail between his legs. . . .

 

Burying his face in his gloved hands, Finn groaned. Forget Skywalker’s meditations, just remembering that defeated slump to his erstwhile husband’s shoulders was all the . . . unwanted physical reaction-slayer he needed.

 

TBC


	11. The Plan 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt (http://tfa-kink.dreamwidth.org/1082.html?thread=51770#cmt51770): They go on a mission where they have to pretend to be married! Complete with sharing a room with only one bed, having to act affectionate towards each other, and all those wonderful fake marriage tropes.
> 
> Bonus points if they already have secret feelings for each other and it makes everything even more awkward at first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes/Warnings: Vague spoilers for Episode VII.

[Beep-boop-wah.]

 

Poe snorted—then almost gagged as he dumped his attempt at lunch down the disposal. “Yeah, buddy, it didn’t smell edible to me, either,” he sighed. “Well, I guess it’s a starvation diet till we get to Yavin—”

 

“Maker save us all, please tell me that’s _not_ lunch?”

 

Poe glanced over his shoulder at Finn, who was standing in the doorway of the galley, looking as nauseated as Poe felt.

 

“Um . . . it _was_. But then, second thoughts were had.”

 

Finn smirked, though he still looked fairly nauseated. “You know you can’t cook. Why do you even try?”

 

“Because practice makes perfect,” Poe said loftily. Finn laughed and entered the galley proper, waving his hand in front of his face, as if that would get rid of the burning stench.

 

“Okay, first thing’s first, we turn on the fan—” he said, stepping over BB-8 and easing past Poe without touching him, to the stove. Poe remembered the good ol’ days when Finn would innocently sidle past Poe in tight spaces, and Poe would get an absent sort of thrill from Finn’s body rubbing against his own. . . .

 

Poe flushed, willed away the start of an erection, and cleared his throat. “There’s a fan in here?”

 

“Yes, there is. Right above the stove, see?” Finn turned on the fan and almost immediately, the stench lessened.

 

[Beep-wah-dap?]

 

Poe glanced at BB-8 then back at Finn, who was waiting patiently for a translation. “Uh, yeah—how _did_ you know that?”

 

“Common sense.” Finn shrugged and laughed. “And almost thirty years spent cooking for you and Finny. Between the two of you, you couldn’t boil wat—” he stopped himself mid-word, smiling ruefully. “Anyway, it’s just common sense. Stoves have fans for just this eventuality.”

 

“I see,” Poe said softly, watching Finn move along the narrow galley, opening cupboards and drawers—getting the lay of the land.  As he made himself busy, Poe dug up the courage from somewhere and asked: “So . . . what’s he like? This future-me?”

 

Finn paused in the midst of taking a pot out of a lower cupboard and looked up at Poe, his face shocked and doubtful. “Seriously? You’re gonna ask me this _now_?”

 

Blushing again, Poe shrugged, trying to smile and make it look natural. He was massively unsuccessful, going on the look on Finn’s expressive face. “I mean . . . besides his cooking skills, or lack thereof, and our attraction to smart, funny, sweet guys who can shoot like no one’s business . . . what did we have in common?”

 

Finn stood up and slammed the pot on the counter next to one of its sullied brethren. His face was closed off and angry. “Well, for starters, you could both be real fucking bastards without even trying.”

 

Turning to leave, Finn didn’t make it to the entryway before Poe had his arm in a gentle grip. Finn tried to shrug his hand off, then yank his own arm away. But when that didn’t work, he glanced over his shoulder. “Are we gonna have to go through this, _every single time_ I try to leave a room? Let. _Go_ of me, Poe.”

 

“No—I mean . . . wait, please? Stay a little while,” Poe said softly. “I’m being sincere. I want to know what this other version of me is like—why you love him so much. I don’t doubt he loves you more than anything.”

 

Finn winced. “So he claimed. And I believed him. I _still_ believe him.”

 

“Tell me something about your life with him . . . something to help me understand. . . .” _why you love him more than you love me_. “To help me understand why you love him.”

 

Finn’s bicep relaxed in Poe’s grip, though he didn’t turn to face the other man. “What do you want to know?”

 

Reasonably certain Finn wouldn’t just storm out of the galley now, Poe let go and took a few steps back—BB-8 was right at his heels, silent as a graveyard, for once—to give the other man his space. “Anything you feel like telling me? I’m listening.”

 

“I feel like telling you a lot of things, Poe Dameron . . . but I doubt most of them are things you’ll want to hear.”

 

“Ouch!” Poe smiled. “You wound me deeply.”

 

At that, Finn’s somewhat relaxed stance tensed up, his shoulders one stiff line. “What did you say?”

 

Poe blinked. “Nothing—just that you wounded me. It’s just a figure of speech.”

 

“I know what it is, Poe, I just . . . never expected to hear it come out of _your_ mouth.”

 

“What—I’m not allowed to have facets?” Poe half-joked, leaning against the counter, watching the still-stiff line of offense that was Finn’s shoulders. “I’m not allowed my own layers?”

 

“No,” Finn replied instantly. “You’re supposed to be the uncomplicated one.”

 

Poe snorted. “Whoever sold you _that_ bill of goods, you should get your money back.”

 

Finn’s shoulders sagged and he sighed, his head hanging for a few moments. Finally, he started speaking. Hesitantly, at first, and so low Poe could barely hear him. Then his pace and voice picked up as he began bustling around the kitchen again, seemingly taking out items at random, and applying heat and water to some of them. It wasn’t long before the galley began to smell like a _kitchen_ , and Poe began to understand a little better the workings of his husband’s heart.

_#_

_Finn Dameron woke early on his first morning as a married man to a large, lonely bed._

_Never mind that it was barely five hundred hours, Finn was_ alone _in a bed, which seemed twice as huge as normal without Poe crowding him toward one edge or the other, sleeping half on top of Finn as if he was giant plush toy. That was how it’d been since they’d started sharing a bed almost one month ago._

_The deviation from that was . . . disturbing._

_So Finn, eased out of their bed, delightfully achy everywhere, naked as the day he was born—itself unusual, but only happening because Finny was staying with his best friend for the week of Poe’s and Finn’s honeymoon—and padded to the back staircase and down to the kitchen._

_He knew not to expect Poe to be in the kitchen—the man couldn’t cook to save his life and, now that Finn had taken over the cooking and wasn’t half-bad at it, Poe avoided the kitchen except at meal-times—but more likely out on the back porch._

_“Poe,” Finn called quietly as he stepped out into the slightly cool night—the weather was changing, fall was in full swing—looking first to his right, then his left. Poe was sitting in the porch chair/swing-thing, wearing his pajama bottoms and nothing else, taking a swig from a tall bottle of clear liquid._

_“There you are,” Finn murmured, approaching his new husband and blushing a little as Poe’s attention traveled from the night sky, to more terrestrial wonders. His eyes were bleary and unfocused, brimming with some emotion Finn couldn’t read. At least for a few moments, until he blinked and looked Finn over, a slow smile inching across his handsome face._

_“You’re up early,” Poe noted, his gaze lingering at erection-level. Finn grinned and stood in front of Poe with his arms crossed over his chest, trying not to shiver. It was definitely getting chilly._

_He moved closer to Poe and knelt between his instantly parted legs, bracing himself with his arms on Poe’s thighs, fingers scrabbling at the waistband of Poe’s pajama bottoms. “I’m not the only one who’s up early,” he replied coyly, baring Poe’s two-thirds hard cock to the night air. Poe shivered, too, but was still smiling as Finn tugged and pulled down on the pajama bottoms. He obligingly lifted up off the swing-seat so Finn could pull the bottoms down into a red puddle at their feet._

_With his free hand, Poe brushed his fingers across Finn’s cheek, stopping at his mouth. Finn kissed his fingertips before sucking Poe’s fingers into his mouth . . . all without breaking eye-contact._

_Poe leaned forward, placing the unmarked bottle of whatever it was—Finn could smell it from the bottle, even from a short distance, astringent and strong—on the floor. Then he held out his hand to Finn, who took it and found himself tugged upward, until he got the hint and straddled Poe’s lap, his arms wrapping around Poe’s neck, his knees digging into the padding of the chair-swing. It rocked under Finn’s added weight, but otherwise didn’t complain. Poe wrapped his own arms around Finn’s waist, gripping Finn’s ass and urging his husband close enough for a slow, languid kiss. Poe tasted like the rotgut he’d been drinking . . . but also like himself, spicy and clean. So Finn was soon lost in the kiss, tiny moans escaping their mouths as Poe’s fingers teased lightly across Finn’s sore, but still-stretched hole._

_“Lift up a bit, sweetheart,” Poe whispered on Finn’s lips. When Finn obeyed, Poe slid forward in the swing-seat a little, his hard-on dragging torturously past Finn’s balls and the sensitive strip of skin behind them. Then he was teasing his way out of their kiss to look up into Finn’s eyes, his own solemn as he arranged his husband just so, before urging Finn to sit back down._

_“Holy_ Maker—Poe _—” Finn gasped, head thrown back as he impaled himself slowly on Poe’s cock. His eyes fluttered shut as he tried to process the intensity of the physical and emotional feelings assaulting him simultaneously. Poe chuckled and kissed his throat, up to his jaw, his teeth gaining purchase in Finn’s earlobe. Finn shuddered and shook as gravity took Poe farther than he’d ever gone—until it felt to Finn as if there wasn’t even room for_ thought _, Poe was so deep. Tears leaked out of his squinched-shut eyes and Poe kissed them away._

_“You’re so perfect . . .tight, hot, and perfect,” Poe murmured on Finn’s lips, claiming them again, but briefly, as he bucked up hard, drawing a breathless cry from Finn. “Everything I want . . . everything I_ need _. . . I promise, baby, I’ll never hurt you, never take you for granted again.”_

_Finn smiled, opening his eyes and meeting Poe’s worshipful gaze. “I believe you, Poe,” he said tenderly, as he’d learned to do when Poe even indirectly referred to their lives Before. “I love you.”_

_“Love you, too, sweetheart.” Poe’s right hand left the small of Finn’s back to settle on his chest, over Finn’s heartbeat, his eyes brimming with tears. “Tell me I’m still in here. . . .”_

_Finn scritched his fingers up from Poe’s nape, into his curly hair. “Always. You’ve always been in my heart and always will be.”_

_Poe’s smile was like the sun rising at night. “I knew it . . . knew that you could see that no matter what happened . . . the others didn’t matter. That it was just you. You and me, the way it was meant to be.”_

_“Poe—” Finn started to say, but Poe kissed him silent, his right index finger circling Finn’s left nipple slowly. “Oh, Poe. . . .”_

_“You’re every bit as responsive as I remember—more so.” Poe sounded pleased and more than a little smug as he gently, then less gently pinched Finn’s nipple, to a response of low, breathy groaning, and the clenching of Finn’s muscles around his cock. “That’s what I loved and still love most about fucking you . . . a little attention goes_ such _a long way.”_

_And so saying, Poe bucked up again, hard and fast, giving Finn rather more attention than a little. They both cried out, tears running from their eyes as Poe leaned in and kissed Finn’s nipple, then caught it between careful teeth. His hand drifted down to his husband’s lap, first caressing, then stroking the hardened flesh he found. His thumb glanced across the tip of Finn’s cock, sliding in pre-come, and Finn looked at him with wide, desperate, yearning eyes._

_“Please—I need—” he gasped out, sagging in Poe’s arms, his face buried in the hollow junction between Poe’s neck and shoulder._

_“What? Tell me what you need, sweetheart?” Poe asked, still bucking up and thrusting as best he could under Finn’s weight and the imminence of his own climax. “Fuck—tell me what you want . . . I swear I’ll give it to you. . . .”_

_“Dunno . . . I don’t—oh, Maker save me! Poe!” Finn cried out as he suddenly came in hot, almost painful pulses that painted his chest and Poe’s quickly stroking hand. His whole body felt as if it convulsed around Poe’s cock in him._

_Poe went utterly still, even the hand on_ Finn’s _cock . . . then Poe was coming, too, a ragged cry torn from his throat and dissipating into the night as he instinctively kept thrusting into Finn’s receptive, though tired body._

_Finn groaned helplessly as he was filled with liquid heat, his own body still shaking and shuddering as it tried to come more and again. Poe’s arms wrapped around Finn’s waist once more, pulling him closer as a last few thrusts levered Poe, and by extension Finn, up off the swing-chair. . . ._

_Then, feats of superhuman strength spent, Poe collapsed back into the swing-chair with a weary, wondering huff, his arms still around Finn, perfect and possessively tight._

_After a few minutes of heavy breathing and a few chuckles, Poe turned his head and kissed Finn’s temple. “I love you.”_

_Finn, still pretty wiped out from coming harder than he ever had in his limited experience, mumbled something that could’ve been: “I love you, too.”_

_Poe laughed and shifted a little—then_ a lot _, so he could reach the unlabeled bottle, which was a safe distance from his foot. Finn whined irritably, then hissed as Poe’s shifting about caused him to slip out of Finn._

_“Poe. . . .”_

_“Sorry, sweetheart, did I just wreck the afterglow?” Poe asked, only half-jokingly as he nabbed the bottle and sat back up, settling Finn under his right arm and taking a drink from the bottle with the other. Finn frowned at the bottle—which had no doubt been full when Poe had procured it—which was now almost half-empty._

_“What’s the afterglow?”_

_“The afterglow,” Poe began grandly, taking another swig from the bottle, “is that wonderful few minutes two people who’ve just had sex have right after they’ve both come.”_

_Finn, nuzzling Poe’s ear, sighed. “I see. Do people usually drink engine de-greaser during the afterglow?”_

_Snorting, Poe trailed his fingers up and down Finn’s arm. It tickled and soothed at the same time, and Finn loved it._

_“Sometimes they do. Or they order take-away and eat while watching holo.”_

_“Hmm.” Finn snuggled even closer to Poe. “That . . . doesn’t sound too bad. As long as it’s not that show Finny likes so much—the one with the Saurians. . . .”_

_“Ah, yes,_ Superior Saurian Squad _. . . I can’t believe that show’s even still on.” Poe took another long swig. “Triple S was old when_ I _was Finny’s age.”_

_“No doubt_ you _used to watch it religiously, too.”_

_“No doubt.” Poe laughed. “That was my_ show _, until puberty hit and suddenly_ Speedo Cops _became a hell of a lot more interesting.”_

_Finn groaned. “Ugh, that concept sounds completely bankrupt and shallow.”_

_“Oh, it was. It was one bare step up from being pornography. But holy_ Maker _were the cops_ ridiculously _hot.” Poe sighed wistfully. “You know, you remind me of one of the cops—the second in command . . . shit, I don’t remember his real name, but on the show, he was Lt. Josaiah Salt.”_

_“Ah, so the truth comes out—he only married me because I look like a Speedo Cop.”_

_Poe laughed again, his body quaking pleasantly under Finn’s. “Nah, that’s not the only reason I married you. You’re also a pretty good cook.”_

_“Gee, thanks.” Finn laughed, too. “Maker, all the names are—so weird and made-up sounding._ Josaiah Salt _? Who even names someone something like that?”_

_“Well, not everyone can be a Finn Dameron.” Poe said, taking yet another sip. The bottle was almost three-fifths empty, now. “Sometimes people have odd names like Josaiah Salt, or . . . Daev Jonez.”_

_Finn laughed. “From bad, to worse. Daev Jonez is so clearly a made up name.” He shifted a little, sat up, and snatched the bottle from Poe, who let it go with a laugh._

_Finn sniffed the fumes coming from the bottle and they made his eyes tear up. Making a face, he took a swig of the rotgut, himself. It burned incredibly, making Finn cough and choke. “Agh! Vile!” He shoved the bottle back at Poe, took it, snickering, then drew a long pull of it, himself, not even wincing as he swallowed. Finn shook his head._

_“Why do you even drink that stuff?” he asked around coughing and clearing his throat. Poe’s smile faded._

_“To paraphrase a great poet, some drink to remember, some drink to forget.” Poe stared grimly at the stars. “I suppose I do a little of both.”_

_“What . . . are you trying to remember?” Finn asked tentatively. Poe smiled grimly at the distant horizon, which was just starting to get light._

_“The same thing I’m trying to forget, for the most part.” That grim gaze turned to Finn. “Self-defeating, ain’t it?”_

_“I’d say that depends on what you’re trying to accomplish,” Finn mused, and Poe snorted._

_“Maker, don’t_ do _that, Finn . . . you sound like a fucking Jedi when you do.”_

_“Do_ what _? What’s a Jedi?” Finn asked, confused. Poe looked at him again, opening his mouth to answer. But he squinted at Finn for a long moment . . . then sighed again, his grim gaze lightening. He even smiled a little: a crooked half-smile that barely touched his eyes._

_“Just one of those things I’m trying to forget.” Poe’s gaze went back out to the stars and above, instead of the dawn ahead. “But the more I try, the better I remember. And then I start remembering other things, too, that I really wish I_ could _forget.”_

_Finn reached up and turned Poe’s face to his own. The other man went willingly, but looked miserable. “Maybe if you . . . maybe talking about it will help.”_

_“I don’t think it will.”_

_“But you haven’t even tried—”_

_“That’s how certain I am it won’t work.” Poe kissed Finn’s forehead, then tipped the bottle up to his mouth again, for longer than he had the other times. This time, he_ did _wince. “Talking it out just makes it worse for me. I’ve never been one of those people who could share their feelings and feel better about myself or life in general.”_

_“But—” Finn persisted and Poe shook his head._

_“No, I_ _’m done_ talking about _not talking about it, okay? Subject closed, finito, done, just enjoy the rest of the afterglow, will ya?” he said flatly, almost coldly._

_Stung, Finn gazed at Poe disbelievingly for a few seconds, then struggled his way off of Poe and out of the swing-chair. Startled, Poe looked up at him. “What the hell? Wait—where’re you going?”_

_“To take a shower, then get breakfast ready. Enjoy your afterglow.” Finn turned and made his pained way back into the house, with as much dignity as any man who was (temporarily) walking bow-legged and who had come trickling down his thighs could._

_“Finn—wait—come back, I—I didn’t mean to—shit!”_

_Poe caught up with Finn halfway up the back stairs, placing his hand on Finn’s back. “Listen, sweetheart, I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have spoken so harshly to you, when you were only trying to help.”_

_“No, you shouldn’t have.”_

_“It’s just that—I don’t want to waste either of our time talking about stuff that’ll just hurt us.”_

_“It feels more like you’re purposely shutting me out of your past—_ our past _.”_

_“Finn—”_

_At the top of the stairs, Finn turned to face Poe, his own face impassive. “Go ahead. Tell me how it’s for my own good, and how you’re protecting us both from a sad and tragic past . . . well? I’m waiting.”_

_-_

_Poe searched Finn’s face, his own anxious and uncertain. Then it fell as he sighed and shook his head. “Baby, there’s a saying in the Outer Rim:_ If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it _. And that’s what I’m trying to do—to not tamper with what’s perfect as is. I understand you want some sort of answers for why you’re here and why you can’t remember—and maybe even who you_ are _. But I don’t wanna jinx what we have—and it_ is _pretty close to perfect. Can’t you feel that?” he asked, taking Finn’s hand and squeezing it as he climbed the last few steps to the top. Finn’s mask of impassivity began to crack. “We’ve got a great life here and now. A great kid and a future so bright the sun can’t even compete. Do you get that I don’t want to ruin that with all the bad stuff from Before?”_

_Finn closed his eyes on tears of frustration and Poe took the opportunity to step into his space. To pull Finn into his arms and sway him. It wasn’t long before Finn’s arms found their way around Poe’s neck, holding as tight as any drowning man to even the hope of salvation. “I get that, Poe. But you can’t keep running away from bad things—bad memories. Because that also means you’re running away from good things and good memories, too. That you’re letting evil win by default because you won’t face it head-on.”_

_“Finn, you don’t understand—” Poe began, rather patronizingly._

_“If I don’t, whose fault is that?” Finn pulled out of Poe’s arms and glared at his husband. “Who’s keeping me purposely ignorant? Who treats me like I’m some sort of hothouse flower, too delicate to know the harsh realities of life outside a fucking greenhouse, hmm? I don’t even know what kind of_ man _I am, just that I’m head-over-heels in love with_ you _.”_

_Finn turned away from Poe, toward the bedroom, but Poe grabbed his arm. “Let go of me.”_

_“Not until we talk about this!”_

_“Oh,_ now _you wanna talk about something?” Finn snorted, tugging his arm free. “Forgive me if I respectfully decline.”_

_Before Finn could stalk off, Poe had grabbed his arm again and hauled him backward. Finn stumbled and nearly toppled them both back down the stairs when Poe caught him._

_“You wanna know something about your past? About_ our _past?” Poe gritted out. “How about something sweet and romantic? Like the time—oh, five or so months into our friendship-with-benefits—you proposed to me, hmm? You made us this fancy dinner and wore your nicest duds, and when I got back from my mission, which had been an abject failure, you dragged me to your quarters and wined and dined me. Then you got down on one knee and_ proposed _to me!” Poe walked them away from the staircase, then turned Finn to face him. After staring into Finn’s wary eyes for nearly a minute, Poe took a breath and reached up, yanking off one of the chains he wore around his neck. At first, Finn thought it was just another dog-tag. But this one had a ring on it, plain silver, but for the topaz stone set in it._

_“You said the stone in it reminded you of my eyes,” Poe said, smiling a little. “And that as beautiful as the ring was, you’d much rather have the real thing. Then you asked me to marry you.”_

_Finn frowned, taking the proffered necklace and ring. They were warm from Poe’s skin. “And . . . I’m guessing your answer was a no.”_

_“Damn right, it was.” Poe barked a mirthless laugh. “I was Poe-fucking-Dameron, bestest pilot in the Resistance. I didn’t_ do _things like get married or make commitments—not even with my best friend. So, yeah. My answer was no. Even though I knew you loved me. Even though I think I loved you, after a fashion. Even though there were times I was unutterably lonely and no one could make me feel the exact opposite of that like you could. I didn’t do marriage or even exclusivity for anyone. Not even for myself._

_“And when I told you no, you . . . you just laughed it off. Said: ‘It was worth a try,’ and smiled your way through the rest of dinner. You even told me to keep the ring, as a token of our friendship.” Poe’s smile was bitter, regretful. “And when I left your quarters that night, pleading exhaustion, I went to Carter Dralos’ quarters and fucked_ him _till I thought I’d forgotten that awful, heartbroken smile you’d worn for the rest of dinner.” He looked down, away from the shocked expression on Finn’s face. “Turns out_ that _kinda smile isn’t so easy to forget no matter how many willing bodies you bury it in.”_

_Finn tried to pull away, but Poe held onto him, slammed him against the wall between Finny’s bedroom and the stairs. Neither man noticed when the necklace and ring slipped from Finn’s stunned fingers._

_“And that,” Poe said, his voice cracking and eyes shining, “is just one of many such wonderful stories from our past. I wish I could say it was the_ worst _story, but. . . .” he shook his head. “I’m not afraid you can’t understand or handle our past, Finn, okay? What I’m really afraid of is that once you realize what a bastard I am and_ have been _to you . . . you won’t want anything to do with me. Just like you didn’t Before.”_

_With that, Poe fell silent, letting go of Finn, but not meeting his gaze. Finn leaned his head back against the wall._

_It hurt to hear that Poe had cheated on him—some version of him—and more than once, from the sound. Though Finn could’ve easily guessed it from some of the other things the pilot had said. But one thing Finn found unbelievable was that other-Finn had not only given up on Poe’s and his romantic relationship, but also on their friendship._

Do I want to do the same? _Finn asked himself. He opened his eyes and looked into Poe’s face. Handsome, as always, yet lacking that playful edge that Finn had gotten used to seeing over the past five weeks. Finn had never seen eyes so sad, so regretful, so . . . afraid to hope. In that moment, things that were more important than his past became apparent. At the top of that list were Poe and Finny, who had loved him and taken him in when he had no friends, no memory, and no idea where or who he was. They had been his family from almost the first moment he’d seen them. Finn had wanted nothing more than to be a part of their happiness and, without hesitation, they had invited him in. Into their home and into their lives._

_The only question now was . . . was Finn ready to give all that up?_

_No, Finn thought in answer to the most important question he felt he would ever ask. I left him once—twice, if one counts dying on Starkiller II. And even though that wasn’t me, I don’t think I could leave him again. It’d destroy us both._

_“You . . . you don’t have to worry that I’ll leave you over something that happened in a past that may not even be mine, Poe.” Finn reached up and caressed Poe’s cheek._

_Surprised, Poe looked up into Finn’s eyes. “For real?”_

_Finn nodded, smiling. “I trust you . . . I trust you to be faithful and loving, and to not to give me reasons to not trust you.”_

_“Never again,” Poe promised solemnly. “Losing you because of my own actions, then to death nearly broke me. I couldn’t survive that twice in my life. Not when I’ve been given a second chance to make things right. I don’t want anyone but you. To be my husband, to be a co-parent to my son, and to grow old with me.”_

_“I want those things, too, Poe. More than anything.”_

_“And, if you want—if you_ really _want—I’ll tell you everything._ Everything _. But once you’ve heard it all, you’re not gonna want to be with me.” Poe sighed, looking down and shaking his head. “It happened once before—I broke your heart too many times and you just—left. Transferred to another base. Not that I or anyone else could blame you. But I always figured—” he laughed, small and lost “—I always figured that one day I’d try to get you back. Maybe when the war was over and we_ had _two seconds to ourselves to think clearly. That once the galaxy was settled, maybe I could settle down, too. But then Starkiller II happened and—and you were_ gone _.” His voice broke again, a renegade tear rolling down his right cheek. “It was like all the light went out of the universe for me. Everyone was celebrating and happy—even the people who were grieving were happy. But I was just . . . I couldn’t see any light at the end of the tunnel, you know? You were_ gone _and my last chance at being happy, with you. All I had left of you was the ring I’d been too proud and too stupid to take.”_

_Finn pulled Poe into his arms, holding the other man tight. “I’m sorry, Poe. So sorry.”_

_Poe stiffened in his arms briefly, then relaxed. “You’re sorry for what? Standing up for yourself? For being a hero? For my own stupidity?” Poe leaned back and looked in Finn’s eyes. “Those aren’t things you have to be sorry for.”_

_Finn shook his head. “No, I’m sorry that I left you. For another base, for another life. For bringing all this up, now—”_

_“You have a right to know,” Poe said lowly, miserably. “Even if it means you leaving again. I’ll understand. If leaving’s what you want, I won’t try to make you stay.”_

_Finn closed his eyes for a few moments, pushing at the wall that had been up between himself and his memories for the past five weeks . . . it was still a dark, impenetrable wall of nothing, but for the moment Poe had named him. Other than that, he still had no clue as to who or what he was. And even that initial knowing had come from Poe. . . ._

_The question was, did he trust that Poe meant him well? That the man he saw reflected in_ Poe’s _eyes—Poe’s life—Poe’s_ love _—was who he truly was . . . or could be?_

_Opening his eyes to gaze into Poe’s hopeless, despairing ones, Finn tried on a smile as he mentally and emotionally closed the door on the time Before._

_“I think I know what kind of man I am, now,” he said softly, brushing his fingertips down Poe’s temple, cheek, and jaw. “I’m the kind of man who is willing to let go of the past, to redeem the present and save the future. I’m the kind of man who doesn’t need a checkered past to make himself whole. I’m the kind of man who doesn’t look a gift horse in the mouth._

_“I’m the kind of man who loves_ you _, and always will.”_

_Poe’s eyes widened, some of that hopeless, despairing look lifting like low fog from the ground. “What?”_

_Finn smiled a little. “If you ever feel the need to talk about it, I’m here, Poe. But I won’t make you go digging into the past when it’s better off laid to rest.”_

_Poe searched Finn’s eyes, his own losing that miserable look completely. “You . . . you mean that?”_

_“Yes.”_

_Poe grinned and pulled Finn into his arms, lifting him just enough so that his feet left the ground, kissing him soundly and spinning them both around._

_“I love you, I love you,” he whispered, putting Finn down and dragging him to their bedroom, laughing. Caught up in the headiness of Poe’s excitement, Finn let himself be dragged—be sat on the foot of their bed, while Poe knelt before him, taking his hands and kissing them. “I love you so much.”_

_“I love you, too.” Finn smiled when Poe bobbed up to kiss him. And kiss him. And kiss him some more. Their arms wound around each other and finally Poe urged Finn to scoot up the bed and lay down. When Finn had done so, Poe did the same, lying next to his husband as they kissed and petted their way into the new day._

_#_

In the silence that followed, Poe watched Finn take the baking tin out of the oven—whatever was in it was weird looking, but smelled . . . _heavenly_ —using a towel in place of oven mits.

 

He put the tin on top of the stove, and draped the towel back on the handle of the oven door, where he’d found it. Then he turned to Poe as if he was about to say something that’d rip the heart out of Poe, if the previous story was anything to go by. But he caught the look on Poe’s face and grinned, instead. “Smells good, doesn’t it?”

 

“I’ll say—what is it?” Poe asked and Finn laughed.

 

“It’s just one of many versions of Finn’s Yavin 4-famous, Whatever’s Handy Goulash.”

 

Poe’s brow furrowed. “ _Goulash_? That’s a horrible name for something people have to eat, you know.”

 

Shaking his head in bemusement, though there was real pain in his eyes, Finn’s grin turned into a small smile. “It’s really eerie how much you have in common with him. He said the same thing the first time I attempted to make a goulash. From one of his own grandmother’s recipe books, no less.

 

“’Sweetheart, that’s a _terrible_ name for something we have to ingest.’” Finn sighed wistfully. “But he and Finny ate it—Finny mostly because he thought it looked like stewed brains, and Poe mostly because he had a rep for being brave to maintain.” Casting a bright glance at Poe, Finn tried to grin again, and mostly succeeded. “It’s so eerie. The similarities, the differences . . . the _everything_. I know you’re _not_ him, but . . . you kinda _are_.”

 

Poe smiled. “Ain’t no _kinda_ about it, sweetheart. I’m the real-deal—one hundred percent Poe Dameron.” That smile faded. “And I can name one major way in which future Poe and I are different. And one major way that we’re the same.”

 

Finn leaned back against the counter, next to Poe, neither close, nor far. “Do tell.”

 

“Well,” Poe inched a bit closer to Finn, until they were almost touching. “We’re different, in that I would never lie to you, never omit the truth, never edit out things that might hurt you or see me in a different light. I would never dream of treating you like that—basically like a child, who’s too young and naïve to handle reality. You’re a grown man, and you deserve nothing less than the truth—all the data needed to make an informed decision. Even if that decision takes you away from me.”

 

Finn’s eyes widened and Poe held his gaze. “The urge to protect you from the difficult things life throws at you would be overwhelming. I understand that. I understand how hard it is to tell the person you love most something that’ll hurt them deeply.” Oh, yes, Poe knew. As his mother lay on her deathbed, she’d waited until Poe’s father was talking with her doctor in the hallway. And she’d looked Poe in the eyes, her own eyes the only lively things about her. Poe had inherited their color, but not their shape.

 

“Have you or your father heard anything from Luke?” she had rasped, and Poe had, for a moment, considered lying and saying that Luke was on his way back to Yavin 4 with a cure . . . had considered it and discarded the idea in almost the same moment. He’d simply shaken his head no, and the light that’d seemed to shine in his mother’s eyes no matter what had dimmed just a little. As it had done for every day that went by without a miracle. . . .

 

“And in what way are you two the same?” Finn asked reluctantly, startling Poe out of his reverie. He looked up into Finn’s eyes and smiled.

 

“Ah, that one’s easy. We’re both the same in that we love you, and would do anything to make you happy.”

 

Finn was the one to look down, now. “I knew you were gonna say that. I don’t know why I even asked.”

 

“You asked because you needed to hear it,” Poe said simply, reaching out to tip Finn’s face back up by the chin. There were tears standing out in his eyes. “I love you. Future-me does, too. I don’t know which, if either of us, actually deserves you. But I know that no one’s gonna _love_ you more than I do. No one’s gonna be more faithful, more honest, and more loyal.”

 

Poe’s finger drifted up from Finn’s chin, to his lips, brushing them tenderly before tracing them. Finn shivered, his eyes slipping shut as Poe leaned closer. Closer, still, when Finn didn’t stop him . . . just made a frustrated sound high in his throat. Poe knew, from long years of experience, when a man expected to be kissed—hell, _needed_ to be kissed. His mind was all but screaming at him to close the distance between them with a kiss. Soft and sweet or teasing and sinful, anything would do. For Poe Dameron had sealed many a deal with a good, long kiss. . . .

 

Only. . . .

 

Only Poe’s _gut_ was telling him something quite different. It was certain that if he tried to win Finn over like that, at this particular moment, he’d be winning a battle, but maybe—probably—losing the war. Even if Finn kissed him back and did that thing where he melted in Poe’s arms . . . even if they found some privacy on the Falcon and finally, _finally_ made love, it wouldn’t be the game-changer Poe thought it was. Might, in fact, be the exact opposite. What would a Finn who'd never cheated on the person he was with for thirty years feel like after breaking that trust? And how would he feel about the _man_ with whom he'd broken that trust?

 

Probably not good.

 

Letting his fingers fall away from Finn’s lips, Poe cleared his throat, and looked away when Finn’s eyes fluttered open, surprised and perhaps a bit disappointed.

 

“Poe,” Finn said, and Poe risked a look up into his eyes. They were so wide and scared and yearning and a million other things, besides. Poe had to remind himself again that it was the _war_ he wanted to win.

 

“Yeah, Finn?”

 

After searching Poe’s face for a minute, Finn smiled a tight, strained smile and looked down at his hands. “Thanks for the gloves. They’re . . . wonderful.”

 

Poe hadn’t even noticed Finn was wearing them.

 

Future-Poe probably would’ve noticed that, and a hundred other things, besides.

 

“I’m glad you like them . . . they look good on you,” Poe added, flushing.

 

“Thanks . . . it was really thoughtful of you to get them for me.” Finn sounded nervous for a second. Poe soon found out why. Finn leaned in and kissed his cheek softly, lingering long enough that if Poe had been inclined, he could’ve turned his head and. . . .

 

Poe, the whole right side of his face throbbing hot and cold, pulled away from Finn and straightened up. He squeezed past Finn, their clothes barely brushing, and nearly tripped over BB-8 on his way to the door. “I’ll, uh . . . go let the others know that lunch is served.”

 

“O-okay.” Finn’s voice sounded strange.

 

Pausing at the door, Poe was tempted to look back . . . to see if maybe Finn really _did_ need a kiss, after all. If maybe _now_ was the right time, after all. . . .

 

But the door had already closed between them.

 

Resisting the urge to punch the wall, Poe headed for the cockpit.

 

#

 

“Well. I really fucked _that_ up. What was I even _thinking_?” Finn muttered to himself. " _Was_ I thinking?"

 

At his feet, BB-8 beeped and booped and wahhed. For a long time, actually. When he stopped, Finn smiled wryly. “I’m sure that whatever you just said was insightful and deep. But to me it just sounded like a lotta beeps.”

 

[Boop!] BB-8 exclaimed. Then: [Wahh!]

 

Both sounds had more than a tinge of exasperation to them. A point borne out by BB-8 then leaving the galley, beeping irritably to himself. Finn could relate, sadly. He was irritated with himself for that stupid kiss, even though it was only on the cheek. He was irritated with himself for giving _this_ Poe false hope . . . or _was_ it false? It certainly hadn't _felt_ false in the moment. _In the moment_ , Finn had wanted nothing more than to kiss Poe. _This_ _Poe_ , the one he was married to in _this time_.

 

What did that even _mean_? Other than further complications in Finn's complicated life? 

 

“Just another twenty-one hours of this, then maybe a week of pretending with Poe, and then I’ll be on my way home,” Finn exhaled wearily. Then he remembered that, without Poe and Finny, ‘home’ was just a word that meant nothing to him. _Might never_ mean anything to him again, depending on whether or not he could get back to the place he belonged, and still be relatively unchanged. . . .

 

“I’ll get back there . . . I _have_ to,” he muttered to himself, determinedly pushing thoughts of _what if_ and present-Poe out of his mind. "I'll get back and it'll be like I was never gone. I'm still the same man I was, my body's just . . . confused. It doesn't know _what_ it wants."

 

His tingling lips, however, declared him the worst kind of liar.

 

TBC


End file.
